


fear is the heart of love (so i never went back)

by ReminiscentRevelry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel and Gabriel are Siblings (Supernatural), Coming Out, Family, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, Genderqueer Gabriel, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Dean Winchester, Religion, Religious Cults, Religious Guilt, Romance, Slow Burn, Trans Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReminiscentRevelry/pseuds/ReminiscentRevelry
Summary: Castiel Novak has grown up in the church his family founded, but he's grown more disillusioned with it as his uncle has taken over and turned it to fire and brimstone in his father's absence. When he follows his older sibling to Kansas and meets Dean Winchester, he thinks that maybe he can be content here. But his family is a weight on his shoulders and a shadow lurking around him, and he'll have to shake them off before they can drag him down.
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot. Then I had about 20k written and had to bite the bullet and turn it into a multi-chaptered fic. Such are the woes of a writer.  
> The title is a line from "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie.

Castiel had his head propped on his hand, drumming his fingers on his cheek as he thought. It was lunch and he and Hannah had foregone the cafeteria in favor of sitting on the stairs to eat. She had a book open in her lap and he was watching squirrels run up a tree out the window, comfortable with their silence. She broke it with a sigh, shutting her book and shoving it in her bag.

“You have study hall next, right?” Hannah asked, crumbling the brown bag with her lunch trash and pitching it into the bin across the hall. She stood and stretched, leaning toward him with her fingers laced over her head, arms stretched high. “Castiel?”

Castiel twitched, looking up to see her with her hands on her hips as she stared at him. “Hmm?”

“You’ve got study hall, right?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just gonna do homework, I guess,” he said.

She held out a hand and he handed her his trash, watching her throw it into the bin. “Well, I’ve got to stay after with Hael, so you’re on your own today. Try to avoid Efram and Jonah, okay?”

Castiel snorted, trying to push down the nerves that rose up when he thought of their cousins. “Yeah, sure thing. Do you know what food we have at home?”

“Besides boxed macaroni and almost expired milk?” she asked. “Some bread, I think, and peanut butter and honey.”

“What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“Late enough for Michael to be pissed that you’re making dinner.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets as Castiel stood up. “Don’t worry about making me something, I’ll nab something from Naomi’s pantry.”

Castiel looked at her flatly. “Yeah, because that’s never backfired,” he said, grabbing his backpack as the bell rang. “I’ll make you a sandwich and leave it on your desk.”

“Stay out of trouble!” she shouted after him.

He lifted a hand in acknowledgement, heading to his study hall. The teacher nodded at him and let him go to the library, where the librarian was too busy with her books to notice him and the only other students were a few AP kids working on a project. None of them noticed him boot up the computer in the furthest corner from the door, where he could watch anyone passing by the library.

Logically, he knew that Hannah was in math and his cousins were all in their own classes. But the fear of them noticing him still nagged at the back of his mind, still made him glance toward the door every few minutes.

His inbox only had one new email, a reply he’d been both hoping for and dreading. He opened the thread, unable to skip reading his own message at the top of the chain, from two days ago.

_Gabriel,_

_I hope this email address is right. Balthazar left me a note before he left with this address and a phone number, but I can’t get to a phone without Michael or Metatron noticing so I’m using the school computer during study hall. I can’t check it again until my next study hall in two days._

_I’m hoping you can help me. When you left, you said you’d come back for me, and I want to leave. I don’t want to stay here. Michael’s so angry all the time and Metatron is just encouraging it and it’s bad. Anna left for college at the start of the year and never came back and I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. Help me, please._

– _Castiel_

His response had come in a few hours after he’d sent the message, when Castiel was probably at home, trying to keep Michael off his back.

_Little Brother,_

_Take a breath, Cassie, I got you. I’m glad Bal remembered to give you this address. It sounds like our big brother is even worse than I remember him. Metatron, too, though I’m surprised he could get any worse._

_I’ve attached a bus ticket to this email. Print it out and keep it on you. At night, when Michael’s asleep, go out through your window and head to the road behind the house. Follow it to the intersection and an old friend of mine will be there in his shitty pick-up. His name’s Garth, he’s gangly and looks like a stiff breeze could snap him in half and is completely harmless. He’ll say ‘Renegade Werewolf’ to let you know it’s him. (Don’t ask me why, he picked the phrase.) He’ll drive you to the bus station and I’ll meet you when your bus comes in._

_Pack light. Don’t bother with your school stuff, leave it there. Only bring what matters most and try to keep it quiet. And don’t tell anyone where you’re going._

_See you soon._

– _Gabe_

Castiel tried to keep the anxiety from climbing up and showing on his face as he sent the ticket to the printer, flinching at the noise it made. Across the library, the librarian didn’t look up. The AP students didn’t bat an eye.

He folded the ticket and put it in the pocket of his trench coat.

* * *

It was late at night when Castiel finally heard Michael go into his room. He’d opened the window once he got home, glad that the weather was warm enough to warrant it, and dumped all of his school binders into the bottom drawer of his desk. His backpack had his clothes that weren’t worn through at the seams, his father's battered old trench coat was draped over his chair, and he was staring at his Bible, the tattered copy Balthazar had left his note in.

He should leave it. It was a reminder of his family.

He couldn’t leave it. It was the only gift from his father he remembered.

He shoved it in the bottom of his bag, setting it under the window before he paused.

Hannah still wasn’t home. He’d left a sandwich in a baggie on her desk and he knew it was still there. She’d find it when she got home.

 _Don’t tell anyone where you’re going,_ Gabe’s email had said.

He hadn’t said anything about leaving a farewell.

Gabe had said bye to him. Balthazar had left him a note. He could leave Hannah a note.

He dug through the bottom drawer to find a spiral notebook and a pen, staring at it for a moment.

He doubted Hannah would want to follow him. She loved the church, got along with Hael, could temper Michael when Castiel couldn’t. She’d be okay here. Their family would take care of her.

He peered into the hallway and slid across to Hannah’s room, avoiding the creaky floorboard between their rooms.

The sandwich was still in place. Toasted peanut butter and honey, the only ingredients they had and her favorite kind of sandwich.

He wrote the note, simple as he could leave it, and tucked it under the sandwich.

_Hannah –_

_Stay safe. I love you._

– _Castiel_

He closed the door gently behind him, not looking back. In his own room, he put his trench coat on and slipped through the window, following Gabe’s directions with just the moon to light his way.

At the intersection – which took him almost an hour to reach – a rusty truck flicked its headlights at him and beeped its horn before coming up slowly, a young man leaning toward Castiel.

“Renegade Werewolf,” he said with a grin. He unlocked the doors when Castiel sighed in relief. “Castiel, right? Name’s Garth Fitzgerald, I went to school with Gabe. He said you were trying to get out.”

“Yeah,” Castiel said. “He… kept in touch with you?”

“Not exactly,” Garth said. He turned the truck around, driving the opposite direction of where Castiel came from. “My family helped him get out when he left, and he asked me to help anyone else who left find him. Balthazar was easy to help, but Anna took some convincing that y’all could manage without her. You’re the third, but I got Balthazar and Anna out easily enough, and you’re headed straight to him. You’ve got your ticket, right?”

Castiel dug it out of his trench coat and unfolded it. “Right here,” he said. “Pontiac, Illinois to – Lawrence, Kansas?”

Garth nodded. “Right between Topeka and Kansas City. Bus ride is gonna be long, so – hang on –” He dug around the backseat without looking away from the road, pulling a brown bag out of a cooler and dropping it in Castiel’s lap. “There you go. Ma’s famous cold cut sandwich, it should tide you over 'til Gabe picks you up. He’s gonna meet you at the station in Lawrence when your bus gets in.”

Castiel nodded, putting the brown bag in his backpack. He still felt a pit in his stomach, nerves eating at him from inside.

“They’ll be okay, Castiel,” Garth said. “You’re not the first Novak to run away and I have a feeling you won’t be the last.”

“I’ve never been away from home,” Castiel mumbled. “I’ve barely talked to anyone outside the congregation.”

“Yeah, that’s how Metatron tries to keep y’all in check. Isolation, fear of the unknown, it’s all how he keeps people from leaving.” Garth glanced at him as he stared at the ticket. “Chuck ran it different, but – well, you know better than me that he’s not around.”

“He could come back,” Castiel whispered.

“Maybe he will one day,” Garth said. “But 'til he does, the church is Metatron’s.”

“And Michael’s,” Castiel said. “He’s going to take it over one day.”

“From what I’ve seen of Michael recently, I’m hesitant to say that’ll be better.”

Castiel frowned, lifting his head to look at Garth. “You – do you – can you –”

“Can I tell you what the town thinks about the church and your family?” Garth guessed. Castiel nodded. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

He hesitated. “Yes,” he decided aloud. Quietly, he added, “It won’t matter once I’m gone, anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Garth muttered, “but if you say so. Honestly? Most of the town don’t like your church. They haven’t since Metatron took over. Chuck was weird, but he was nice – good with kids, friendly if you ran into him at the store, not as openly rude or vocal about his judgments.

“Metatron, his teachings, they’re – crueler, less the love and compassion of Christ and more fire and brimstone, you get me? But your congregation is so tight knit that by the time people are close enough to have a foothold, they already believe what Metatron is saying.”

Castiel looked down at his hands in his lap. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still hurt to hear, that his family was thought of so poorly.

“You know it’s not your fault, right, Castiel?” Garth looked at him when he hit a stoplight, eyes kind and gentle. “We don’t pick our families. People don’t think kindly of them because of how they act, but you’re separating from that, and you’re not like those twins of Naomi’s, Efram and Jonah. You’re quiet and keep to yourself, most people don’t think twice about you. It’s Metatron and Michael that they think about.”

“And if they do think about me, they pity me,” Castiel muttered. “I can see it in their eyes.” In his teachers, in his classmates, in the people he passed going to school or the grocery store, he could see the pity they turned toward him.

“It ain’t pity, it’s _worry_.”

“It’s pity,” Castiel argued. “They see me and think ‘poor kid, his father left and Michael cares more about the church than he does his siblings.’”

“That ain’t what people think,” Garth said evenly. “They think ‘he could do so much if he wasn’t trapped there, if he had someone to care about him.’”

“Pity,” Castiel spat.

 _“Worry,”_ Garth repeated. “And it’s not on you, Castiel, it’s on Chuck and Michael and Metatron. Half the town thought Naomi or Metatron would take you in when your old man disappeared, no one thought they’d leave you with _Michael_ as your guardian.”

“Did you even know him?” Castiel tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but it was seeping in through the shaking in his hands and the heat in the back of his throat.

“Michael?” Garth lifted his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. His tone finally shifted from even and kind to bitter. “He was a couple years ahead of me and Gabe in school and he was self-righteous even then. Told Gabe all the time that he shouldn’t hang out with someone who wasn’t part of the church and should join him with Raphael and Zachariah whenever they wanted to play ‘smear the queer.’ He was a jerk, to put it kindly.”

Castiel frowned. He knew Michael had a temper, knew he wouldn’t admit to wrongdoing, knew he could be difficult. He tried to pretend tears weren’t pricking at his eyes, threatening to pool and cloud his vision. Despite himself, he still wanted to think well of his brother.

“Listen, Castiel,” Garth said gently. “You’re a good kid. You deserve better than Michael and Metatron, and Gabe will make sure to take care of you, I know it. You’ll do better in Lawrence than you ever could here, I guarantee it.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Castiel whispered. He could feel the heat in the back of his throat, the lump lodging as he wanted to cry.

“Then you can come back here and punch me in the face.” Garth pulled into a parking spot at the bus station. “But I don’t think you’ll have to.”

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes dry as he got out of the truck so Garth couldn’t see. He was silent when they walked to the terminal, halting when Garth pointed it out.

“Can you do me a favor?” Castiel whispered.

“Sure thing,” Garth said, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.

“Can you keep an eye on someone?” He gripped the straps of his backpack, squeezing them as tight as he could. “My sister – Hannah – she’s going to be alone with Michael, now.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Garth said. “I’ll drop Gabe a line if I think she needs saving, but you worry about yourself, okay? Not much you can do from Lawrence.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Garth clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into a sudden hug, patting his back. “Stay safe, Castiel.”

“Uh –” Castiel lifted his arms awkwardly, mimicking Garth’s motions before backing away. “You, too, Garth.”

Garth left with a wave and Castiel boarded the bus, finding a seat in the middle. The driver warned him it would be a long ride, that he’d reach Lawrence around noon the next day, and he realized that he didn’t mind. He ate half the sandwich Garth had given him, saving the rest for when he inevitably woke up around four, and pulled his tattered Bible out of his bag.

He’d kept the note from Balthazar tucked in his favorite verse from Romans, but he’d gone through some of the dusty photo albums while Michael was busy and had found old photos, ones he hadn’t seen before that likely hadn’t seen light since their father was around. He’d taken a few and tucked them between the pages to keep them safe.

His father with a guitar and Castiel and Hannah at his feet. Him and Hannah as toddlers, near identical with their dark hair and blue eyes, standing in a garden with Anna and Gabe holding flowers out to the person behind the camera. Gabe with Castiel on his shoulders and Hannah standing with her feet on his, holding his hands as she learned how to walk. His father holding him in the church as a small child in a baptism outfit behind his pulpit, both wearing wide smiles. Castiel as a toddler on Gabe’s lap, an illustrated Bible open in front of them. His father with his back to the camera, hands in the pockets of the same trench coat Castiel now wore, his head tilted toward the sky, sun glinting off curly hair.

He put the pictures back in the middle of the book to keep them flat and put it back in his bag, holding it against his chest as he dozed off.

* * *

The end of the bus ride took much longer than Castiel realized and he was glad to get off the bus. Over twelve hours in a small space made his legs sore and he had, like he’d expected, woken up at four am and couldn’t fall back asleep. The second half of the sandwich had been filling, but it had been hours ago, and he was hungry. And tired. And sore. And grumpy.

He followed the crowd off the bus and scanned the people scattered around the station. Some were adjusting their luggage. Some were walking with purpose. Some were greeting family.

As he turned, he suddenly found himself in a bone-crushing hug that made him yelp and go rigid.

“Cassie!” Gabe’s voice rang in his ear and all the tension in his body released.

“Gabriel,” he mumbled, returning the hug. After a moment, he buried his head in Gabe’s shoulder and hugged him tighter, not able to find any words as tears started pooling in his eyes again. His grumpiness evaporated, replaced by relief.

“Easy, Cassie, easy,” Gabe said, squeezing him. “God, you got big – bigger than me, hell, last I saw you, you were a shrimp. Now look at you, you’re all grown up.”

Castiel sniffled and tightened his grip when Gabe tried to pull away. “I – I’m – I don’t –”

Gabe shook his head against his shoulder and patted Castiel’s head. “I know,” he said simply. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I know a good place for lunch. You’re hungry, right?”

Castiel nodded as his stomach growled. Gabe laughed and he finally let go, letting Castiel reach up to wipe at his eyes.

“Still that old trench coat,” Gabe mumbled fondly.

Gabe drove them to a place on the edge of Lawrence, Harvelle’s Roadhouse. The lot was nearly empty and there was only one person to be seen when they stepped inside, an older woman behind the bar.

“Hey, darlin’,” she said without looking up. “Shouldn’t you be at your store?”

“Took a day to get this one,” Gabe said, gesturing to Castiel. “My little brother, Castiel.”

She looked up and smiled softly at him. “Another Novak graces our presence,” she said. “Name’s Ellen, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Castiel said.

“Grab a seat wherever, I can whip something up for y’all,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand to gesture at the empty Roadhouse. “Just holler when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Ellen,” Gabe said. He found a booth in the corner and sat across from Castiel.

It wasn’t like Castiel had been to many restaurants – there wasn’t much money for it in the first place, and Michael didn’t like them interacting with people outside the church anyway – but he’d never been in a bar before. The vinyl seats of the booth squeaked under him and there were smudges on the wooden table. Neon lights covered parts of the wall and tried to cast them in a red light that conflicted with the daylight streaming through the windows that highlighted every dust mote in the air over the pool tables.

“Ellen was one of the first people I met when I left home,” Gabe said. “She gave me my first job, washing dishes in her kitchen. She’s good people.”

“She seems kind,” Castiel said quietly. Scanning the walls, there were frames of blown up rock album covers, magazine covers and articles, some photos of people and places he didn’t recognize.

A menu dropping in front of him drew his attention back to Gabe.

“I have to ask,” Gabe said, “what was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

His shoulders went stiff for a second before he shook it off, forced himself to relax and pick up the menu. The words blurred in front of his eyes for a second before coming back into focus as he tried to think.

“There’s so much hate,” he whispered after a moment. “It’s breeding anger and aggression in everyone and it – it scares me. It doesn’t feel right.”

“It isn’t right,” Gabe said simply, no room for argument. “Is it Metatron stoking the flames?”

“And Naomi. And Michael. Efram and Jonah, too.”

“Michael’s always had anger issues.” Gabe tapped Castiel’s menu, pushing it against the table. “You should’ve seen him when we were in high school, he and Raphael and Zachariah were terrible, absolute menaces to deal with.”

Castiel paused and put the menu down, laying his palms flat against the table. “Smear the queer,” he said softly. “Garth said they liked to play that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Gabe snorted. “Only reason they never smeared me was because they didn’t know what I was hiding from them. It’s half the reason I left in the first place.”

Castiel blinked. Stared at Gabe. Tilted his head, eyes wide.

“You’re –”

“Yep!” Gabe beamed at him. “Took a while to find the word for it, I couldn’t exactly research it with Michael breathing down my neck all the time, but I’m genderqueer. Not exactly man, not exactly woman, not exactly neither, not exactly both. Oh, and I like men. And women, too, but mostly men.”

Castiel stared at him still, eyes going wider as tears started pooling. He’d never heard the word Gabe used, ‘genderqueer’, nor had he ever heard someone be so _happy_ about being different, about being queer.

He’d only really heard about being queer when Naomi was preaching, or her sons were taunting their classmates, or Michael was admonishing him for being emotional.

He’d only heard it used negatively.

And Gabe was saying it like it was a _good_ thing.

“Cassie?” Gabe leaned forward, arms on the table and smile falling. “Castiel?”

“I – I’m –” He broke off and pulled a hand up to cover his mouth, tears starting to fall as he drew in a shaky breath, trying to stifle a sob.

The seat dipped beside him and warm arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I told you that you need to ease them in,” Ellen said to Gabe as she ran a hand through Castiel’s hair, pulling him into her shoulder. “You’re two for two in making your siblings cry when they find you.”

Gabe shrugged. “Better to tell them early than have them try and hit me with a baseball bat in my sleep,” he said.

“Wouldn’t hurt Gabe,” Castiel mumbled against her shoulder. “Jus’ didn’ know – didn’t realize – I thought – thought I was –” He broke off again, a half-stifled sob ripping through his throat.

Ellen shook her head before resting her cheek against the top of his head. He leaned into her, like he needed the warmth and comfort more than anything as he got his breathing under control. “Take your time,” she murmured. “It’s been a long day. Take your time, kid.”

When he finally sighed and tapped his hands against her shoulder as he pulled away, she grabbed a napkin and offered it to Castiel. “Was he this incorrigible when he was younger?” she asked, jerking her head to Gabe.

He blew his nose in the napkin and used his coat sleeves to wipe his eyes again. “Pretty much,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s a shock for a lot of people,” Ellen interrupted, rubbing his back. “But I was one of the first people Gabe met when he got to town and he latched on like a duckling imprinting –”

“Hey!”

“– on its mama, and now I can’t get rid of him,” she continued like he hadn’t said anything. “Which means he brings his strays in here, every time.”

“You said he was two for two,” Castiel murmured. “Who –”

“Anna,” Gabe said at the same time as Ellen. He clamped his mouth shut when she cut him a glare, squeaking out, “Sorry.”

“She came through here about six months ago,” Ellen said, shifting to keep an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Gabe at least waited until after he fed her to drive her to tears, but she was all right after a bit.”

Castiel bit his lip. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one,” he said softly.

“Anna left before you, didn’t she?” Ellen asked.

Gabe leaned forward, his fingers drumming along the edge of Castiel’s forgotten menu. “Cassie?” he whispered. “Are you – well, you know?”

Castiel nodded. “Not – not genderqueer, I’m a boy – I’m pretty sure – but I – I’m –”

“You don’t have to say the word if you’re not ready to,” Gabe said softly. “I know it took me a while before I didn’t get my hackles up at every word, even if they weren’t an insult. But not straight, is what you’re saying?”

Castiel nodded silently, eyes fixed on the menu. The words still didn’t register as words. The pit in his stomach was deepening. He didn’t know if eating would fill it or make him throw up. He felt like a hollow shell, like a glass frame that was cracked and one wrong look away from shattering.

“Three for three,” Ellen muttered. She patted Castiel’s back. “All right, I’m gonna make you two a couple burgers. Gabe, try not to shock him to tears anymore.” She ruffled Castiel’s hair as she turned away. Gabe waved a hand in acknowledgement, still leaning toward Castiel.

“That’s one question answered, I guess,” he said once Ellen was in the kitchen. “The next ones should be easier, but do you want to do twenty questions before or after you eat?”

“After,” Castiel said weakly. He noticed two glasses of water at the end of the table that hadn’t been there before and pointed to them.

“Ellen brought them,” Gabe said. “You didn’t notice because you were so shocked by me being queer. She gives nice hugs, right?”

Castiel nodded, dragging a glass toward him. “It’s been a while since anyone’s hugged me,” he admitted softly.

“Yeah, Michael’s never been big on affection.” Gabe sat up and twisted his neck from side to side, making the joints pop. “And never the kind someone could use to call him gay. When I first got here, Ellen said I was touch starved.”

“She seems to care about you.”

“She does. I’m not the first stray kid she’s picked out of a crowd and given a job,” Gabe said. “Ash lives in the backroom and does weird hacking stuff. The Winchester boys are in here all the time. She would’ve adopted Bradbury if Jody hadn’t beat her to it. She watches out for the kids she thinks need a mom.”

“We never had a mom,” Castiel said.

“No, just an absent father who cared more about his church than his kids.”

Castiel twitched and drew his fingers to his palm, pressing his thumb against his knuckles to pop them.

“Right, touchy subject for the kids who don’t remember him that well. Learned that the hard way with Anna.” Gabe shifted awkwardly. “Well, I guess I’ve gotta figure out how to sign you up for school, now that you’re here.”

“Doesn’t that require, like, paperwork? Birth certificates and such?”

“Maybe.” Gabe shrugged. “But Ash the Wonder Hacker can get what we need. And if Michael tries to find you – which he won’t, probably – I’m technically still your guardian.”

Castiel tilted his head. “I thought Michael was my guardian.”

“We both were.” Gabe smiled at Ellen when she set two plates loaded with fries and hot burgers in front of them. “I’ve seen the legal papers – recently, mind you – and Michael never took me off as guardian. It’s how Anna was able to put my address for her college stuff.”

“How’s she doing?” Castiel popped a fry into his mouth and sighed. Crispy and salty and greasy, it settled into his stomach and took away some of the gnawing feeling. He ate more as Gabe spoke.

“She’s good,” Gabe said around a mouthful of burger. “Studying journalism on a full ride down at the University. I guess her essay about basically raising her two little siblings blew the admissions team out of the water.”

“That’s good,” Castiel said. “I’m glad she’s good. And Balthazar?”

“Doing something in the art world in Europe. He sends me postcards.”

Castiel nodded and held onto his question until he swallowed his food, barely realizing he’d eaten half the fries already. “What if – what if Michael does come after us?”

Gabe held his burger halfway to his mouth as he thought. “Well,” he said, “I’m friends with the Sheriff, and the DA owes her a number of favors. Ellen’s got a shotgun under the bar. I think we can handle him.” He set the burger down and wiped his hands on a napkin. “This is where things will get a little bit stressful, Cassie. I’m gonna need you to write down for me everything that happened that led you to want to leave, in case we need it as evidence.”

He swallowed roughly, choking down the bite of burger that wanted to lodge in his throat. “That can’t wait until something happens?” he asked weakly.

Gabe shook his head, an apology in his eyes. “The longer you wait, the more you might forget and the less of an argument we’d have,” he said. “It won’t be easy, not in the slightest, but you’ve only gotta do it once and we can tuck away whatever notebook we put it in, just in case. I did the same with Anna. It took her a couple days to write everything, but I’ve got that book still. It’s just a precaution.”

Castiel nodded, his eyes stuck to his plate. “Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

“Later, though.” Gabe pointed at the burger. “Eat. You look like skin and bones, little brother.”

Castiel smiled slightly and dug into the food. For once, his heart didn’t race with nerves and his stomach didn’t twist itself into knots with anxiety. He ate, and he was comfortable.

* * *

Despite wanting to sign Castiel up for school, the first place Gabe took him was a combo bakery and candy store called Trickster’s Delights.

“We just ate,” Castiel said. He squinted at the store front. “And they’re closed.”

Gabe snorted and pulled around to park in the small alley behind the store. “It’s my store,” he said simply. “First floor is the shop. Second floor is my loft.”

Castiel blinked. “You own a bakery?”

“It’s also a candy store.” Gabe grabbed Castiel’s bag from the backseat. “Pretty popular with the kids in town.”

Castiel smiled slightly when Gabe looked away, murmuring, “You always did have a sweet tooth.”

Scents of chocolate and sugar and breads slammed into Castiel when he followed Gabe through the back door, appetizing and sweet and welcoming. Gabe skipped over the light switches and went up a small, narrow stairwell, unlocking the loft and standing aside to let Castiel in first.

It was small. The first things visible were an old couch and a couple of armchairs near a bookcase that covered most of the wall, a TV set into it. A record player sat on the low dresser by the door next to a dish that Gabe tossed his keys into. On the other side of the door were a series of hooks that Gabe pointed out after tugging on the belt of Castiel’s trench coat. The wood flooring turned to tile at a counter with a couple stools under it, a divide between living room and kitchen. The whole room was lit by a large window set against the wall near the couch, its curtains pushed as far back as they could.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Gabe said. He pointed down the hall past the kitchen. “The one at the end is the bathroom, on the right is my room, and the one on the left was a guest room, but it can be yours.”

Castiel blinked. “Mine?” he said.

Gabe looked at him. “Well, where did you think you would go once you got here?” he asked.

Castiel paused, unsure. He didn’t know, he realized. He hadn’t thought as far as what would happen once he left Pontiac. He didn’t think he’d make it this far.

“I didn’t think I’d get this far,” he murmured.

Gabe looked at him and sighed. “Same as Anna,” he muttered. “Though I guess she figured she’d go to university and be done with it. But you’ve got – what, two more years of high school? – so you need a stable home, and I’ve got a spare room. So, it’s yours.”

Castiel looked down as he tried to think of a response. Gabe sighed and went down the hall, tugging Castiel after him, and opened the guest room door.

It was simple enough. A set of shelves directly in front of him, a plain dresser beside the door. There was a closet door in the far corner and a bare desk against the same wall with its chair tucked in. A full-sized bed set against the wall opposite the dresser and door, nestled between two windows that overlooked the back alley. Through the windows, Castiel could see the tops of the Dumpsters and, past the one-story building across from them, cars driving on the road.

It wasn’t much. The shelves were empty. The dresser and desk were bare. The bed only had sheets and a couple pillows without a blanket. There were side tables under both windows, one with a lamp, one without.

But the carpet was clean, as were the sheets. The windows locked and had blinds. The furniture was all solid wood, free of nicks and carvings, without dust or dirt on them.

Gabe patted him on the back, setting his bag between the dresser and the door. “It’s not much,” he said as he rubbed his neck. “I figured you’d want to pick out your own set of bed stuff, probably some clothes, too, if that’s all you brought.” He nodded to the bag on the floor. “Gotta do that before I sign you up for school.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel murmured. “It’s great.”

“It’s the clean bit, isn’t it?” Gabe muttered. “That’s what Anna was stuck on.”

Castiel nodded. “The house – it’s not good at home.”

Gabe shook his head. “Fucking Michael. One day, I swear,” he muttered.

“Swear what?” Castiel asked, turning in a circle to look around the room. The walls were bare and white without cobwebs in the corners, or holes from nails and thumbtacks, or dents from fists.

“Don’t worry about it.” Gabe waved it off with a hand, going back into the hallway. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

Castiel nodded and watched Gabe go into his own room. Through the door, he saw a three striped flag over the bed – purple, white, and green. Gabe looked up from rifling around his dresser and noticed Castiel staring at it, head tilted to one side.

“It’s a pride flag,” Gabe said. “Genderqueer one.”

“It’s nice,” Castiel said. “Is there – I don’t know anything about gender. Are there things I should know?”

“It can take some time to learn it all,” Gabe said. “And I don’t know the best place to start. As far as I’m concerned, regarding myself, sometimes I want to use different pronouns, and I usually avoid the gendered titles, like brother or sir or mister. I go by Gabe, not my deadname, and I’m sticking with he/him these days, but that’s subject to change. I’ll let you know when it does.”

Castiel nodded. “I should apologize,” he said, “I think I called you the wrong name when you came to get me. And in my email.”

Gabe shrugged. “You didn’t know. And Michael was never one to go along with nicknames, I remember how much he’d yell at me for calling you Cassie. It’s a reclamation of sorts, going by a nickname of my deadname, and a bit of an act of spiteful defiance.”

“But Michael won’t know that you only go by Gabe,” Castiel pointed out.

Gabe shrugged. “He never has to know.” He shut the door and smiled at Castiel. “It’s not something I do for his detriment, I do it for my own benefit.”

Somehow, to Castiel, that made sense.


	2. Chapter Two

Castiel felt like his heart was in his throat. He and Gabe had spent his first day in Lawrence getting him new clothes, stuff for his room, and school supplies. The next day he’d registered at school and the principal had told him he’d start Monday. The next two days he alternated between writing down everything Gabe needed to know about what had happened since Anna left and winding down from the anxiety it gave him by pacing or reading.

Gabe had told him specifics were best.

Specifics were draining.

He’d write specifics and get drawn into his memories until he had to claw his way out of mind and remind himself that he wasn’t in Pontiac anymore, that Michael wasn’t going to walk in and berate him, that Metatron and Naomi weren’t going to reprimand him for dozing off during church or seminary, that no one was going to talk to him with cloyingly sweet condescension like he was idiot. That Gabe wasn’t going to yell at him for crying, that he wouldn’t mind if Castiel stayed in bed past four am, that he wasn’t going to kick him out for being – well, _him._

True to his word, once he’d finished writing everything down, Gabe had taken the book and locked it in his safe, out of sight, out of mind, and distracted Castiel with the bakery. He spent part of the weekend learning how Gabe ran his store and helped him do inventory after hours. He didn’t go downstairs when the store was open – there was always at least one customer or worker chatting with Gabe and he didn’t want to bother them – but he liked going through the aisles after hours and looking at all the stock.

He liked listening to Gabe talk about the recipes he’d created and eating the food he’d make and shove at him. He liked when Ellen dropped by in the morning just to see how they were doing with her daughter, Jo. He liked how peaceful it was and he didn’t want that peace to end.

But now it was Monday. He had to go to school.

In Pontiac, he was the weird kid from the church, but he at least had Hannah.

Here, he was going to be the weird kid who transferred mid-year to live above a bakery with his older sibling.

His heart was in his throat. His stomach was in knots. There was heat clawing at the back of his throat.

“Stop panicking and get out of my car,” Gabe said from the driver’s seat. “We’re walking distance from the school. Just come through the back door, I’ll be in the kitchen or the office if you want to find me, but you can go straight to the loft if you want. ‘Kay?”

He’d offered to drive Castiel but had specified that it was a one-time-only offer, since they lived close enough for him to walk. He’d left the shop in the hands of a few of his workers but Castiel knew he was itching to get back. Morning was one of the busiest times for the bakery and he couldn’t be gone long.

“Okay,” Castiel mumbled. “See you after school.”

Gabe reached out and ruffled his hair before he got out. “Love you, little brother,” he called.

He raised a hand in acknowledgement, not looking at Gabe as he drove away.

Affection wasn’t something he was used to. It wasn’t something he was good at. Gabe gave it out freely, ruffling his hair or throwing an arm around his shoulders, but he couldn’t say the words, couldn’t start the motions.

Chewing his lip as he walked, he avoided the clumps of students and stared at the schedule the principal had given him. The bell schedule was written underneath it alongside his student number and his locker combination. It blurred in front of his eyes as he looked up to try and find a matching room number.

First block was history, room 2103.

He was outside room 1006 and it looked to be a science lab.

He gave up and caught the eye of a teacher that pointed him in the right direction. Up the stairs and on the other side of the school, apparently.

He wasn’t the first person in the room, but the other students didn’t pay him any mind. The teacher asked his name, pointed out which desk would be free, and let him sit quietly until the first bell rang.

“All right, everyone, we’ve got a new student,” she said once everyone was seated. “Mr. Novak, please raise your hand?”

Castiel grimaced slightly but raised his hand. She nodded and went on with her lesson, but he could feel eyes on him. Watching. Wondering. Waiting.

At the end of class, the girl beside him asked if he knew where his next class was and offered to walk him there. It seemed better than getting lost, so he accepted. His next class went much the same, a small introduction and someone offering to walk him to the next room so he wouldn’t get lost. It was kind of them, though he stayed quiet most of the day, not starting any conversations or joining in. He kept his answers short and his eyes down, hoping people wouldn’t notice him, wouldn’t wonder too much.

It wasn’t until English that someone tried to catch his attention, a boy who was taller than him and wearing a beat-up leather jacket.

“You’re the new kid?” he whispered.

Castiel nodded. “Castiel Novak,” he murmured, offering a hand.

“Dean Winchester,” he replied, shaking it. “Rumor is that you’re Gabe Novak’s little brother, the one who owns Trickster’s Delights?”

Castiel nodded.

“Cool,” Dean said. “What brings you to Lawrence, then? Last I heard, Gabe ran from a cult. You do the same?”

Castiel stiffened. “I… I’m from Pontiac, Illinois. Our family runs a church there. I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean nodded and held up a hand in apology. “My bad. How do you like it here, so far?”

“I got here on Thursday,” Castiel said. “I haven’t seen much besides the shop, but it seems all right.” He paused, thinking. “And Harvelle’s Roadhouse, when I got here.”

“The Roadhouse is great,” Dean said. “Jo’s good friends with my little brother, Sammy, and Ellen’s an old friend of my Uncle Bobby. You should come by there on a Friday or Saturday night, that’s when the most people are there. It’s a lot of fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The bell rung and Castiel frowned when everyone started moving.

“Lunch,” Dean said. “All the English classes have second lunch, in the middle of class. You can sit with me, if you want.”

“Oh.” Castiel pulled his lunch out of his bag and followed Dean through the halls. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dean stopped in one of the alcoves, dropping his own lunch on one of the empty high tables. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about your family, but how’d you get here? Illinois is like, a state away.”

“Five hundred miles or so,” Castiel corrected. “I took a bus. Thirteen hours, mostly through Missouri.”

Dean grimaced. “Road trips in your own car are one thing, but a bus ride is _entirely_ different,” he said. “Do you drive?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have a permit, so I don’t know how to drive,” he admitted, examining the food Gabe had packed him. Bagel sandwich, carrots, apple, chips, and some sort of sweet that was shaped like a bee, the bag labeled in messy scrawl. “Do you?”

Dean nodded, his sandwich already half-gone. “Have been for a couple years,” he said.

“How early can you get your permit here?” Castiel asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Fourteen,” Dean said. “What’s the minimum in Illinois?”

Castiel blinked. “Fifteen. There are fourteen-year olds driving?”

“Not exactly, there are restrictions and shit, and you can’t drive after nine pm until you’re seventeen, but you can start _learning_ at fourteen. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Castiel mumbled.

“Same,” Dean said. “I can drive to school and pick up my little brother from the middle school, but if you know the roads and know who tends to patrol them, you can get away with taking a detour or running to the store. Gabe’s friends with Jody, though, so you could probably get away with breaking curfew.”

“Do you?” Castiel asked.

“Depends who’s asking,” Dean replied, grinning at Castiel. “My dad ran a garage in town, and my Uncle Bobby owns the local scrap yard, so I’ve kinda been around cars forever. Fixing, scrapping, driving, whole nine.”

Castiel nodded, jumping when someone shouted down the hallway, “Dean!”

Dean grinned and nodded, lifting an arm for a red-haired girl to give him a one-armed hug, her lunch held in her other hand. “You’re late, Charles.”

She shook her head and hopped into a chair. “The line was obnoxiously long,” she said. To Castiel, she continued, “Hi! I’m Charlie Bradbury, nice to meet you.”

He shook the hand she offered. “Castiel Novak,” he said.

Charlie’s eyes lit up. “The new kid, right?”

He felt his shoulders droop slightly and Charlie waved her hands in front of her. “Sorry! It’s just, we don’t get many new students, and your name is kinda unique, and Meg and Ruby mentioned they’d seen you in their classes –”

Dean casually put a hand over Charlie’s mouth. “Easy, Chuck, you’re overwhelming him.” He didn’t notice Castiel twitch. He was focused on Charlie. “He’s sixteen, from Illinois, Gabe Novak’s little brother, and he doesn’t know how to drive.”

Charlie pried Dean’s hand off her mouth with a pout. “You suck at twenty questions,” she said. To Castiel, she asked, “Dean’s not too good at manners. For instance, he was _supposed_ to meet me at the cafeteria to keep me company in line. He gets a pass today. But only today!” She pointed at Dean, who rolled his eyes at her.

“I was being friendly,” he said, gesturing to Castiel.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Castiel said, shifting his seat back a little.

“You’re not,” Charlie and Dean said at the same time.

“Charlie just likes to tease,” Dean said. “What’s the bee?” He pointed at Castiel’s lunch.

“A confection of some sort,” Castiel said, finally taking it out of the baggie to peer at it. It smelled like chocolate.

Charlie pulled the bag toward her, reading Gabe’s label. “Oh, it’s one of those mousse-filled chocolates! Is Gabe trying out new recipes?”

“I guess?” He broke one of the wings off, offering it to Dean. “I don’t really know what he carries in the bakery. I only got here Thursday.”

Charlie took the chocolate wing he offered her with a grin. “The best stuff in town is what he carries. He was making desserts at the Roadhouse before he had the bakery and they were pulling in people that weren’t part of the regular crowd to the point that Ellen had to hire more people to help with the weekend rush.”

Castiel blinked. “He didn’t tell me that,” he said quietly. “How long has he had the store?”

“He probably just didn’t get the chance to tell you,” Dean said. “He opened up shop about three years ago and is one of the only places that opens at five, so he gets the early morning crowd most days.”

“And he runs specials all the time,” Charlie added. “Like, half-priced doughnuts during exams, a free cupcake if you can show him straight A’s. The best is during June, he makes a bunch of Pride-themed stuff.”

Castiel blinked. “Pride?” he asked.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, for pride month.” She tilted her head when he just looked at her, confused. “Castiel?”

“I don’t think I understand,” he said. “Pride month?”

“You know, like, gay and trans pride?” Charlie pulled her bag to her lap, tapping a colorful striped button. She frowned when Castiel shifted his gaze from her to look down at the wingless bee, blush rising across his face. “What’s wrong?”

Dean shifted, frowning at Castiel. “Is there a problem?” he asked, voice tight and harsh.

“I was just confused,” Castiel mumbled. “I – I’m sorry, my first thought wasn’t sexuality.”

“What was?” Charlie asked.

“Um – the sin, pride,” he said awkwardly, turning the bee over in his hands.

“Like, seven deadly sins pride?” Dean asked. _“That’s_ what your mind jumped to?”

“In my defense,” Castiel said stiffly, his ears and face hot, “I was raised in a church that wasn’t the kindest about –”

He cut himself off and bit his lip, turning away for a second. He felt like he was digging his own grave, heat rising in the back of his throat again. He bit into the bee, trying to breathe evenly.

Smooth, foamy chocolate filled his mouth, startling him slightly and shifting his focus to what he was eating. He’d forgotten what Charlie had called it, but the texture was nice, and it tasted delicious.

Charlie elbowed Dean. “He’s not being malicious,” she said, “so don’t be a jerk. You didn’t know what Pride month was before I told you, either.”

“All right, all right, put your elbow away!” Dean batted at her arm. “I’ll be nice. Hey! I’m sorry!”

Charlie snorted and dropped her elbow, smiling at Castiel. “He’s got a terminal case of Big Brother Syndrome and thinks he has to protect me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Even though I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Dean shrugged, popping the bee wing into his mouth and saying around it, “We’re still in Kansas, Charlie, I think I get to worry.”

“It’s understandable,” Castiel murmured.

“Don’t give Dean an excuse to be a dick,” Charlie said. “Besides, you’re Gabe’s little brother, so you must be all right if he’s letting you live with him.”

“I hope so,” Castiel said quietly.

“If anyone has Big Brother Syndrome, it’s Gabe,” Dean said. He gathered up their trash and pitched it into the trash can in the corner, not bothering to get up. “Half the reason we know him is because he’d see us hanging out in the Roadhouse and talk to us. He’d teach us how to play pool and poker, how to cook, let us taste test new recipes.”

Castiel tilted his head. “The Roadhouse is a bar, though.”

Dean shrugged. “The Roadhouse is a restaurant,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, one leg propped on the rung of his chair and the other stretched to the floor. “So, kids are allowed in, they just won’t serve us alcohol. Plus, Ellen’s a family friend. More like an aunt, really, and she’d babysit us sometimes. So, we hung out there a lot.”

The bell rung and Charlie groaned. “Off to history I go, boys. Nice meeting you, Castiel!”

She bounced off with a wave and Castiel realized that he was alone with Dean, who was watching him with mild interest. He tensed, pulling his shoulders in as he stood up.

“Gabe did tell you about himself, right?” Dean asked, getting up from his chair slowly.

“That he’s genderqueer? Yes, he told me.” Castiel didn’t move when Dean stepped forward, ending up chest to chest with him. He could hear the chatter and noise of people leaving the cafeteria, but Dean stayed where he was.

“And you don’t have a problem with it?”

Was Dean threatening Castiel? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t figure out what was in Dean’s eyes, if it was hostility or curiosity or apprehension.

They were startlingly green, Castiel noted.

“No,” Castiel said at last. “I might not – understand gender stuff, but he’s still my older sibling. He still got me out of Pontiac.”

Dean tilted his head slightly before grinning and clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “So long as you’re not a dick, we’re cool, then,” he said. As people started coming toward them, he started walking toward their class, waiting for Castiel to match his stride before continuing, “Gabe didn’t tell us a lot about his family, but he did say that they weren’t very accepting, so you get why I’m cautious, right?”

Castiel nodded. “It’s a reasonable concern,” he said. “I won’t hold it against you. I just – I’ve rarely seen anyone so open about it.”

“Yeah, I get why people would be closeted, if they were around your church,” Dean said quietly. “But Charlie’s been out forever, if she suddenly _weren’t_ open about it, I’d think she was a clone.”

Castiel stumbled slightly, only catching himself by the banister of the stairwell. “Charlie is out?”

Dean stopped and looked at him. “Did you not notice the pride button on her bag? It’s the lesbian flag, dude.”

“I didn’t know,” Castiel said honestly. “I thought she was just supportive.”

Dean clicked his tongue and shook his head, letting out a small huff of laughter. “Damn. Your family really kept you sheltered, didn’t they? What’d you usually do after school, if you didn’t drive?”

“I would ride the bus home and do homework,” Castiel said. “Then try and clean the house or make dinner or help at the church.”

“What, that’s it?” Dean frowned. “No TV, no music?”

“My brother, Michael, said they corrupted,” Castiel said. He’d gotten rid of them after Gabe left, along with a lot of the stuff Gabe had left behind.

Dean shook his head. “Fucking hell, man,” he muttered. “Did you have _any_ fun?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly as he thought, quiet as he sat at his desk. “I like reading, that’s fun,” he said at last. “Although, I had to be careful about what books I borrowed from the library. Michael was specific about what we shouldn’t read.”

“He sounds like a dick,” Dean mumbled, glancing up to look at the teacher. “Hey, let me see your schedule?”

Castiel handed him the sheet of paper. Dean looked at it and grinned.

“You’ve got a couple classes with me and Charlie,” he said. “She’s pretty good for book and TV recs. She’ll know the best place to start.”

“What about music?” Castiel asked.

“Leave that to me, Cas,” Dean said, passing back the schedule as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got all the best on vinyl and cassette, trust me.”

Castiel frowned. “Cas?” he murmured. He looked at Dean, eyebrows scrunched together over his nose.

“Something wrong?” Dean asked.

“No one’s ever called me ‘Cas’ before,” he said simply. He picked up his pencil to roll it between his fingers, looking at it instead of Dean.

“I can call you by your full name, if you want.” Dean laced his fingers behind his head.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just – my family wasn’t big on nicknames. Gabe was. Balthazar was. The rest of the family wasn’t. Michael got angry whenever Gabe would use a nickname for anyone,” he explained.

“He mentioned something like that once,” Dean said. “Sam was asking him about how he picked his name, I think.”

“An act of defiance,” he murmured, remembering what Gabe had told him. He smiled softly, eyes trained on his pencil between his fingers. “I like that.”

“So…” Dean poked his arm. “You want me to call you something different?”

He shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “I like it.” He looked at Dean, eyes bright. “You can call me Cas.”

Dean nodded and smiled. “Cas it is.”

_‘An act of spiteful defiance.’_

He turned over the words in his head.

Castiel felt heavy.

Cas felt light.

Cas felt right.

* * *

The bakery was busy when he slipped through the back door. Gabe waved at him from the kitchen but didn’t stop working, his hands covered in dough. Cas didn’t want to bother him, instead slipping upstairs as quietly as he could.

Charlie had been extremely enthusiastic when Dean told her that Cas needed recommendations for books and movies and TV shows, babbling at Cas about science fiction and fantasy between helping him and Dean with their science work. She’d written him a list on a sheet of notebook paper, her handwriting loopy and brightly colored, when Dean had told her she was overwhelming him by rattling off titles and summaries at lightning speed. Dean had given him a list of his own music recommendations, but he didn’t know how he’d listen to music. Books were easy, he could borrow them from the library. But he didn’t know how to use Gabe’s TV or record player and didn’t want to break them by trying to figure it out himself.

He settled with scanning through the books on Gabe’s shelves. He hadn’t looked at them much, but he could spot a few titles from Charlie’s list that he pulled out and took to his room, sitting on the bed.

It was still simple, but the room was starting to feel more like it was his. He’d found a simple enough bedspread – plain, dark blue, soft and heavy, but nothing special – but he kept getting stuck on the stuffed bee on his pillow.

Gabe had left home almost five years ago, when Cas was eleven, and still remembered his fascination with bees. It was a shock to him, that Gabe had held onto that information and known that it was still true, that Cas still liked bees.

It felt like an offering of sorts. A token that meant Gabe still cared about him, that even when he left, he hadn’t stopped thinking of Cas. A gift.

He set the bee on the end table and looked at it. He knew that in the drawer beneath it was his tattered Bible, with Balthazar’s notes and the pictures he’d taken.

The Bible made him feel guilty and heavy.

The bee made him feel welcome and warm.

He put the bee back on his bed and cracked open one of the books he’d picked up, sinking into the narrative. Reading had always been a good way to calm himself, to occupy his mind in a way that wasn’t mulling over the same racing thoughts he always had, and he was glad for the reprieve that came from pushing his thoughts to the side.

He was less glad when Gabe came silently through the open door and flopped onto the foot of his bed, making him let out a startled yelp.

“You’re jumpy,” Gabe said. “How was school? Make any friends yet?”

“Maybe,” he said, dog earing the page and closing the book. “I ate lunch with two people who said they knew you – Dean Winchester and Charlie Bradbury?”

“Ah, the honorary siblings.” Gabe smiled, stretching his arms above him before dropping one over his eyes.

“You know them?”

“Sure. Granted, I know nearly everyone, to some extent, but Dean and Charlie are good kids. Met ‘em when I worked at the Roadhouse, they’re both orphans, and Ellen would watch out for them. If she was busy, I’d play babysitter.” Gabe squinted at Cas. “What’d they tell you about me?”

“They like the bakery,” Cas said honestly. “And they think I’m probably decent, if you’re letting me stay with you.”

Gabe frowned. “Charlie jump straight to the gay stuff?”

Cas nodded. “She said you do themed baked goods for Pride month?”

“Of course she did.” Gabe sighed. “You tell them that you’re not straight?”

Cas shook his head, looking at the book still in his hands. “I don’t know what word would fit. Or if I want to find one that does. Is that normal?”

“The function of a label is to give you comfort,” Gabe said. “Some people don’t use labels; some find one that fits and stick with it; some change their labels over time. It varies from person to person and there’s no one-size-fits-all label. You don’t have to label yourself if you don’t want to, Castiel.”

Cas frowned. “Can I go by a different name if I’m not – if I’m still a boy?”

“Sure. No reason you can’t change your name if you’re cis.” Gabe raised his closed hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “If you’re interested in the terms, cisgender is when you identify with what you were assigned at birth – a boy, in your case. Transgender is when you identify with something else. Non-binary is when you don’t identify with either man or woman, but there are more terms under that umbrella.” He put his fingers down and pointed at himself. “I fit under that. Some non-binary people don’t consider themselves trans, some do. Again, it’s all personal preference. You have a name in mind?”

Cas nodded. “Dean called me ‘Cas’,” he said quietly. “I think I like that.”

“Solely Cas? Is Cassie still on the table?”

“You can still call me ‘Cassie’, I don’t mind.”

“But not your full name?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Gabe waved a hand. “Easy. So, Cas, anything else happen? ‘Cause let me tell you, the shop was _chaos_ when I got back this morning.”

Cas grinned and sank against his pillows, hugging the bee against his chest as he listened to Gabe talk, feeling lighter. Slowly, bit by bit, he felt like the weight from his family was lifting with every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabe, a reasonably adjusted adult: *shows affection*  
> Cas, a repressed teenager: *confused head tilt*  
> Cas's name is one of the weirdest ones where it's perfectly normal to read his full name, but feels wrong to write it in full. So I made it so I wouldn't have to write it in full.  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, but no pressure. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

Cas found that for the first time, he was enjoying going to school. Charlie and Dean would sit with them in the alcove at lunch and include him in their conversations, they'd invited him to their lab table in science, Charlie would pair with him in gym class and talk to him about books when Dean wanted to be athletic, and Dean would whisper to him throughout English and try to make him laugh.

He was enjoying living with Gabe, too. The loft was small, but it was always clean, with food in the fridge and recipe books full of notes Gabe had scribbled in. The fridge had a whiteboard on it that Gabe would write new pronouns on when they changed – currently, it said they/them. After their talk about names, Gabe had shown him how to use the TV and the record player and added their own recommendations to the lists Charlie and Dean had given him. Where Charlie loved sci-fi and fantasy and Dean liked westerns and horror, Gabe’s recommendations were mostly light comedies and queer romances.

The romances became some of his favorites. Michael would have called them abominations and Metatron would have consigned him to damnation for even considering them literature, but he liked seeing queer characters living well and getting happy endings. He liked the twinges of spite every time he read a new one, knowing that his family would hate it and knowing they wouldn’t ever _know_ what he was reading. They wouldn’t know what friends he’d made or what characters he saw himself in or that the vice-grip he held himself in was loosening slightly every day.

About a month after he’d gotten to Lawrence, Gabe threw open the loft door and shouted, “Put on your coat, we’re going to the Roadhouse!”

Cas jumped, almost falling off the couch as his arms got tangled in the blanket he was under. “What?”

Gabe went to the record player and gently lifted the needle, frowning at the record. “Dean’s still got shit taste,” they muttered. To Cas, they continued, “We’re going to the Roadhouse for dinner, c’mon.”

Cas sighed as he set his book down. “May I ask why?” He winced as he stood, the muscles in his legs protesting.

Gym class had been moved outside so they could practice running a mile and get their times down. He’d been at the back of the pack with Charlie the whole time.

Was he skinny and lean? Yes.

Was he athletic? No.

Dean had offered to take Cas on runs with him and laughed when his face screwed into a disgusted frown.

“You’ve been here a month,” Gabe said, “and you’re adjusting pretty well to school and making friends, but Ellen’s been nagging at me for keeping you to myself.” They patted Cas’s shoulder. “Granted, I haven’t exactly been free most of the time, but she thinks I overwork myself, anyway.”

They weren’t wrong. The bakery was usually busy to the point that they’d asked Cas to help them after hours with counting stock and cleaning the kitchen some nights so they wouldn’t have to keep their workers too long past closing. Cas didn’t mind helping them; Gabe would walk him through some of their recipes whenever he helped in the kitchen and show him how best to clean as he went. And Gabe always worded it like a question when they needed help, though Cas couldn’t imagine refusing. It seemed fair to him, that he helped when Gabe needed it.

Gabe ruffled his hair. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You can meet some of the people that helped me when I first got here.”

Cas smiled and put on his coat, locking the door behind them when they left.

The Roadhouse was far busier on a Friday night than it had been the Thursday afternoon he’d arrived. Cas tried to push down the urge to cling to Gabe like he had when he was young, instead just staying a step behind them.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.” An older man sitting at the bar with a tattered baseball cap and ragged flannel lifted his beer toward Gabe. “I haven’t seen you here in almost a month, kid, where have you been?”

“Working,” Gabe said, “and getting this one settled in.” They turned and patted Cas on the shoulder. “My little brother, Cas. Cas, this is Bobby Singer. He owns a scrapyard on the edge of town.”

Bobby nodded to Cas. “A pleasure. Jody is dropping by soon, you gonna stick around?”

“Maybe,” Gabe said. “I figured we’d eat and go from there.”

They glanced at Cas, but Bobby waved them away and turned back to Ellen behind the bar, letting them find a table and place their order without trouble.

“So, school,” Gabe said. “Good? Bad?”

Cas drummed his fingers on his arm. “It’s less stressful,” he said at last. “Back home, it always felt like Efram and Jonah or Hael were watching me. It’s not like that here. I don’t think many people notice me.” He didn’t mind fading to the background if it meant he didn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder in fear of his cousins watching him for some transgression.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Gabe said with a shrug. “Dean and Charlie still notice you, right?”

Cas nodded. “They let me sit with them in class and at lunch,” he said.

“You make that sound like they’re gonna pull that permission away,” Gabe said, frowning. “You don’t think they like having you around?”

Cas winced, looking down at the table. “I – They have a dynamic that works. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Dean and Charlie have been best friends for years, but they wouldn’t ask you to sit with them if they didn’t like your company, Cas.” Gabe tapped the top of his head with the laminated menu. “It’s not a matter of _letting_ you do anything. It’s been a month, they probably think of you as a friend, at this point.”

Cas frowned. “How would I know that?” he grumbled. “I haven’t had friends before.”

Gabe pressed their mouth together in an exaggerated frown and reached out with the menu again, one corner of their mouth twitching up when Cas batted it away.

“Do you like talking to them?” Gabe asked. “Do they like talking to you? If the answer to both questions is ‘yes’, then they’re your friends, Cas.”

Cas exhaled sharply out of his nose, biting his lip. “But how do I know they like talking to me? How do I know that they’re not – that it’s not out of pity?”

“You could always ask.” Gabe shrugged. “They’d probably be surprised that you didn’t think you were their friend, but you can always ask. Or you can sit and wonder forever and think that people are always pitying you because Michael convinced you that you weren’t worthy of being cared about.”

Cas flinched and Gabe winced at the motion. “Okay, too far,” they said, heaving a sigh and pausing before they continued. “My point is that you’re allowed to ask questions, but you can watch how people act, too. If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t seek you out. You can’t –”

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Gabe stopped and looked up at the woman who’d walked up to them, her hands hooked on her belt and a grin on her face as she touched Gabe’s shoulder.

“Jody,” they said, shifting their chair to let her pull up her own. They gestured to Cas. “My little brother, Cas.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down, but her attention was on Gabe.

Cas lifted a hand awkwardly in greeting, looking between Gabe and Jody and wondering what Gabe had been about to say, but they were half-turned to Jody, asking how she was.

“Aside from trying to keep Charlie from hacking Crowley’s servers every other day?” she asked dryly. “I’m doing all right.”

Cas shifted in his chair, twisting to look around until he spotted the restroom signs.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said to Gabe, not waiting for a response before slipping into the crowd.

Where the Roadhouse was bustling with music overhead and people calling out for Ellen and general chatter between tables and waiters and patrons, the bathroom dulled it all once the doors were closed, the only clear noises coming from Cas. He could hear the tones of the classic rock that was playing over the sound system in the distance, but the lyrics were unintelligible, reduced to percussion and rhythm.

He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose as he tried to rub some of the weariness and frustration from his eyes. He knew Gabe was just trying to help him, trying to lessen his anxiety, but their tendency toward sharp humor poked _wrong_ at Cas and he couldn’t explain it. Gabe’s humor used to be comforting, but now it just felt like needles in his mind.

Cas knew, logically, that Charlie and Dean were his friends, but logic didn’t take away his fears. It didn’t undo what Michael, Metatron, and Naomi had drilled into his head. It didn’t stop his heart from pounding when there was a beat of silence between him saying something and Dean laughing. It didn’t stop him from waking up in a panic when he slept past six. It didn’t stop him from second guessing his words and his actions at every moment. It didn’t stop his head from convincing him that people pitied him in secret and were waiting until he was out of sight to lament his circumstances.

A copper taste filled his mouth and Cas realized he’d been chewing his lip hard enough to break skin. He scowled at himself in the mirror, hating that he could see red rimming his eyes again. Michael’s voice came in from the back of his mind, whispering, “ _Weak and childish, you deserve their pity.”_

He shook his head like it would shake Michael’s voice out of his skull, turning the water on to wash his hands. It ran cold for a second and he twisted the faucet to keep it cold, splashing it against his face. It took some of the heat away, but the back of his neck still felt too hot, his throat still felt too warm.

 _“It’s not proper for you to always be crying, nor should you be in a house of hedonism,”_ Naomi’s voice, harsh and sharp, replaced Michael’s. _“You should be ashamed of yourself.”_

Cas sucked in a sharp breath. Logic could do a lot for Gabe, but it didn’t get their family’s voices out of Cas’s head. It didn’t help him with the pain in his chest when he thought about them. It didn’t help him get out of his own mind.

He shook his head again and turned the faucet to hot, barely reacting as it turned his hands red and left them burning as he dried them. The noise of the Roadhouse was a lot, but it was better than being in his own head.

Outside the bathroom, he halted near the bar when he saw that Jody was still at the table with Gabe, now joined by Bobby. The three of them had their heads close together, Gabe gesturing as they spoke, Jody listening with a steely glint in her eye and a hard set to her mouth, Bobby frowning as he held his beer bottle.

“You can still join them, you know.”

Cas jumped and turned to see Ellen looking at him, moving to the side to let her behind the bar.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” he said carefully. “They look serious.”

“They are,” Ellen said, picking up a glass to wipe it down, “but they’ll shut up when they see you. It’s not something Gabe wants you to worry about.”

“But it’s something that worries them?”

Ellen sighed and set the glass down, fixing her eyes on Cas. “Kid, Gabe worries about a lot of things. Of the things that _you_ gotta worry about –” She jabbed her thumb toward the table. “– that ain’t one of them. Gabe loves you more than they do themself, they’re just tryin’ to keep you safe, is all.” She picked her glass back up and jerked her head toward the table. “Now go on, they’re waiting.”

Cas shifted awkwardly when he realized that Gabe was, indeed, watching him from the table and shuffled back to the table. Bobby and Jody made no move to leave, instead turning their attention to Cas.

“So, Cas, Gabe said you’ve been here about a month,” Jody said, chipper and perky. “I think you’ve met my daughter, actually, Charlie? Red hair, stuck to Dean Winchester like a burr.”

Cas blinked and nodded. “She’s – yes, I have. She’s nice.”

“Is she coming by tonight?” Bobby asked, looking at Jody. “I saw the boys yesterday; I know they’re dropping in at some point.”

“She went to the movies with Jo and the boys,” Jody said, stealing a fry off Gabe’s plate and checking her watch. “They’ll be here – oh, speak of the devil.”

Cas twitched as a boy with long brown hair ran over and hugged Bobby, who grinned at him and returned the hug. Jo was on his heels, Charlie and Dean following at a casual pace.

“Well, it’s a party now,” Gabe said, scooting their chair back and glancing at Cas. Quietly, they asked, “Everything okay, Cassie?”

Cas nodded. “I just needed a second to think,” he mumbled. He moved his chair closer to Gabe when Dean swung his own chair around and bumped it into the legs of his.

“I was starting to think I’d never see you in here,” Dean said, grinning at Cas. He pointed at the kid who’d moved from hugging Bobby to sit beside Gabe. “That’s my little brother, Sammy.”

"Sam," came a chirped correction. He nodded to Cas for half a moment before turning back to Gabe, chattering excitedly about the movie they’d just seen.

“He’s energetic,” Cas said. He wanted to meet Sam properly, but his attention was focused on Gabe, hands moving wildly as he spoke, and Cas didn't want to interrupt.

“Yeah, Charlie bought him chocolate when I wasn’t looking,” Dean replied, pointing at Cas’s plate and taking a fry once he nodded. “Now I have to let him wear himself out before we go home so he’ll actually sleep.”

Sam turned away from Gabe to frown at Dean. “I’ll sleep fine, Dean,” he argued, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “It wasn’t a ton of candy.”

“You were bouncing around the backseat the whole drive here,” Dean said.

“Give it two hours and you’ll be carrying him out of here,” Ellen said, setting plates on the table and kissing the top of Jo’s head. “And stop stealing his fries, Lord knows he needs more meat on his bones.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said, shifting his hands to the plate she set in front of him.

“I’m not that thin,” Cas mumbled, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

“You look like a twig,” Bobby said bluntly. “Which is shocking, since you live in a damn bakery.”

Cas frowned and Gabe snorted. “Listen, I can only offer him so many baked goods without getting him sick,” they said.

“You should put more in his lunch,” Charlie chirped. “They’re good.”

Gabe rolled their eyes, turning to look at Cas. “You’re giving the sweets to Charlie?”

“I share them,” Cas said, feeling his heartbeat pick up. “They’re very rich.”

“They’re delicious,” Charlie said with a sigh, her head propped on her hand.

“You just want free sweets,” Gabe said.

“I want to try stuff I normally wouldn’t try,” Charlie said.

Cas looked at his plate, poking at the fries as Charlie and Gabe talked about baked goods. Was Charlie friends with him because he shared the confections Gabe put in his lunch?

Dean elbowed him. “Hey,” he whispered, “I got something to show you, but I left it in the car. Come with me?”

Cas nodded, pushing his chair back. “Sure,” he said hurriedly, trying to pretend he didn’t notice Gabe watching him carefully.

“Back in a flash,” Dean said, leading him out the door to the parking lot, stopping next to an old Chevy Impala.

“Nice car,” Cas said softly. It was freshly washed and looked different from most of the cars in the lot, low and sharp and sleek.

“It’s my Baby.” Dean grinned and patted the roof of the car, pulling open the passenger door and leaning down to rifle through a box. “She was my dad’s first.”

“It’s nice of him to let you drive her around past curfew,” Cas said, peering at the interior. Clean leather seats, hand cranks for the windows – it was an older car, clearly. He looked at Dean and noticed that he’d paused, shoulders stiff and rigid. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Dean said quickly, short and sharp, almost breathless, “it’s fine.”

Cas frowned at him, eyebrows drawn tight over his nose as he took in the red in Dean’s cheeks, the twitch of his jaw, the slant down of his eyebrows.

“I think you’re lying,” he murmured. “Did I say something?”

Dean’s breath hitched and he sighed, setting the box down. “I just – forgot that you didn’t know, I guess,” he muttered. “It’s not your fault.”

Cas tilted his head and didn’t say anything, waiting for Dean to continue. Instead of talking, Dean picked up the box and sat down, sliding over to the driver’s side and patting the bench, watching Cas until he sat down. He didn’t start the car, but Cas closed the door when he sat, still waiting for him to talk.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple times, like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he said, “My dad died, almost two years ago. Car crash. In – in this car, actually.” He looked at Cas, mouth pressed into a tight line as he waited for Cas’s response.

“Isn’t that –” Cas paused, looking around the car at the interior. There was a backpack in the backseat, an army man wedged into an ashtray, a box of mixtapes between them, but it was clean. No evidence of a crash, no way of knowing someone had died in the car. “Isn’t that a bit morbid? Keeping the car your dad died in?”

“He didn’t die in Baby, he died in the hospital,” Dean said. “I – she was totaled. Bobby wanted to scrap her. I rebuilt her from the ground up.”

Cas felt his eyebrows flick up and he looked at the dashboard. “That’s…”

“Obsessive?” Dean asked, voice wry and bitter.

“Impressive,” Cas finished. “I don’t know much about cars, but that can’t have been easy. In the rebuilding her or in the…” He trailed off, not sure how to word what he wanted to say.

“Or in knowing that my dad was gone, and I spent the weeks after his funeral obsessing over a car instead of paying attention to my little brother?” Dean’s voice was bitter and sharp.

“No,” Cas said. “In knowing that he was gone, yes, but also in the conviction to keep his car, knowing what had happened.”

“Sammy didn’t get why I cared so much about it.” Dean rested a hand on the wheel, running his fingers over the leather. “It was like a – it was how I got to say good-bye. He was a mechanic, he taught me about cars, and we’d work on her together. Letting Bobby scrap her – it felt like I’d lost him again. Rebuilding her was like I kept a part of him.”

“I understand,” Cas murmured.

“You do?”

Cas nodded. “My father was a pastor,” he said softly. “He left when I was seven. I don’t remember him very well, but on my seventh birthday, he gave me a Bible. It’s – it’s falling apart, now, but I couldn’t leave it in Pontiac, and I can’t throw it away. It’s – it’s the only piece of him that I have. Yeah, I get it.”

“Gabe let you bring a Bible into the loft?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Gabe doesn’t know I have it.” Cas looked up at the Roadhouse, at the people leaving, mouths wide in laughter, arms slung around their tipsy and drunk friends. “I put it in my end table when I got here. It – it’s hard to look at, because it reminds me of my family, but at the same time –”

“Getting rid of it would be like pretending it never happened,” Dean murmured. “Like they were never around.”

Cas sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I get that.” He looked at Cas, grinning crookedly. “Well, we may not have dads, but we’ve got some pretty good siblings, right?”

Cas felt his shoulders tense for half a second before he nodded, murmuring, “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Dean’s eyes stayed on Cas, soft and forlorn, before he turned down to the box between them, picking up a cassette tape. “Anyway, here. Making lists ain’t really my strong suit, and I know Gabe’s got a tape deck somewhere.”

Cas turned the tape over in his hands. The track list was written in block lettering on one side, the other side blank.

“Just – don’t let Charlie see it, okay?” Dean drummed his hands against the wheel. “She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Cas tucked the tape into one of the inner pockets of his coat, his mind jumping to Charlie.

“Does Charlie – are we friends?” he blurted out. Gabe’s advice, _‘You could always ask,’_ rung through his ears louder than a siren. He clamped his mouth shut when Dean looked at him in bewilderment, feeling heat rise in his cheeks and regretting opening his mouth.

“I’d hope so,” Dean said, staring at him. “What – did you think we weren’t?”

Cas shrugged helplessly. “I’ve never really had friends before,” he admitted weakly. “And – in there, just now – Gabe said Charlie just wanted free sweets, and I didn’t –”

Dean shook his head. “Cas, dude, no – they were teasing Charlie, she’s always tried to wrangle free sweets from them, long before you got here. We didn’t wanna be friends with you because you were some kind of _‘in’_ to the bakery, you just seemed quiet and –”

“Out of place?” Cas muttered.

“Like you would sit in silence forever if someone didn’t offer you a seat,” Dean finished. “I just beat everyone else to the punch.”

“I don’t think anyone else notices me.” Cas ran his fingers along the buttons of his coat, not looking at Dean.

“Are you kidding?” Dean scoffed. “Cas, Meg has been trying to get your attention for a month, Ruby and Bela keep pestering me and Charlie about you, and Benny has been bugging me to invite you to a game night for weeks. People are curious about you, man.”

“Only because I’m new,” Cas mumbled.

“Sure, new kid has its own intrigue to it,” Dean said, “but you’re clever, and funny. And handsome.”

Cas looked up at last to frown at Dean. “I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“I’m _not.”_

Dean laughed. “Dude. Trust me, you’re handsome, and half the girls in the school are tripping over themselves hoping you’ll notice them.”

Cas’s frown deepened and he nudged the box of mixtapes. “That’s not – I don’t… Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t understand girls,” he said. “Charlie doesn’t, either, even though she’s a lesbian.”

Cas felt his heart clench. He knew the girls Dean had mentioned, but he didn’t like the idea of them watching him, having an interest in him.

Metatron’s condescendingly gentle voice filled his head from above. “ _Castiel, dear boy, men and women are meant to coexist to procreate. It’s how we bring more people into our flock. Women are meant to bear our children, fathers meant to raise them up right.”_

“But I don’t like girls,” he mumbled, surprised at how right the words felt, how they felt like a slap against Metatron’s words.

“You don’t have to,” Dean said simply. Cas jolted, realizing that he was still in the Impala, Dean was still barely two feet away from him, able to hear his every word.

“I – I didn’t – I don’t –” He felt his heart rate pick up as his heart plummeted, felt his breathing get shallow and fast.

Dean held up his hands. “Cas, buddy, easy. Cas!” He patted Cas’s shoulder a few times, shaking him slightly. “Cas, _breathe.”_

Cas lifted his hands up on instinct, grabbing Dean’s forearm as he tried to suck in a deep breath as he stammered, “I – I’m sorry – I – please –”

“Cas, stop _talking_ and _breathe.”_ Dean leaned back, not shaking free of the vice grip Cas had on his arm.

“I didn’t – I’ve never –” Cas broke off, digging his fingers into Dean’s arm.

“What, you’ve never come out before?” Dean asked.

“No, not really,” he managed to squeak out, still taking shallow breaths. He felt warm and dizzy and the only solid thing was Dean’s arm.

Dean used his free hand to pat Cas’s hand gently. “Yeah, it’s scary the first time. And every time after that. But you know that I’m good with it, and so’s everyone at that table. No one’s gonna hate you for it, Cas.”

Cas shook his head, his breaths barely evening out. “I – Charlie and Gabe have words that they use and I don’t – I tried looking but –”

“Yeah, there are lots of labels,” Dean said. “In and out, Cas, easy. You don’t _have_ to pick a specific label, man. I didn’t.”

His breath stuttered and he tightened his grip for a second. “You’re –?”

“Queer as hell, man,” Dean said, grinning at him. “I could pick a more specific label – I know which one would fit, too – but I like queer. It just lets people know I’m not straight without telling them how, and I like that. It’s got some ‘fuck you’ vibes to it, too.”

Cas stared at his hands on Dean’s arm, slowly trying to convince himself to loosen his fingers as he managed to take in deeper breaths, but he was stuck. His brain was stuck. He could feel Dean’s pulse under one of his fingers, strong and steady and even. He could see Dean’s hand on top of his, feel the warmth, the callouses along the pads of his fingers, the slight twitch of him trying coax Cas into easing up his grip without prying his fingers off.

“Does Gabe know?” Dean asked softly.

“I – yeah – they know.” An easy question, an answer Cas knew.

“But no one else?”

Cas shook his head. He finally managed to move his fingers, letting go of Dean’s arm to put his face in his hands, pressing on his eyes and pinching at the bridge of his nose. Dean patted his shoulder, but it didn’t feel condescending, the way it always had when Metatron or Naomi or Michael did it. It felt more comforting, familiar, like when Gabe ruffled his hair.

“You don’t have to tell anyone.” Dean picked up the box of mixtapes and set them in the floorboard of the backseat, not batting an eye when Cas pulled his leg onto the seat and leaned his forehead against his knee. “But if anyone gives you shit, I’ll take out their kneecaps, swear to God.”

“My family would kill me,” Cas mumbled into his knee. He moved his hands away from his face to hug his leg, rubbing wet eyes against his pants leg. “God, they’d kill me.”

“Do – should I go get Gabe?” Dean looked up at the Roadhouse and back at Cas, who shook his head.

“They can’t find me.” His voice was small and raspy, not like his regular voice. “God, I hope they don’t find me.” He felt dizzy, his heart pounding against his chest again as he squeezed his leg against his chest.

“Yeah, okay, I’m getting Gabe,” Dean said, leaning back to open the door. “I don’t know shit about y’all’s family, but –” He got up enough to look over the roof of the car. “Rufus! Grab Gabe! Yes, now!”

He dropped back into his seat, leaning toward Cas. “A’ight, Rufus is grumbling, but he’ll get them. Cas, your family is in Illinois, right? There’s a whole state between us and them.”

“Four hundred and fifty miles, roughly,” Cas mumbled. “But what if they find me? They’d – we’re damn _abominations_ , they’d –”

“Abominations, my ass,” Dean grumbled. “That’s on them for being dicks, not us for being – well, _us.”_

Cas noticed, faintly, that his accent got more Southern the more incensed he got. He pressed his cheek against his leg, wondering how tight a ball he could curl into before he broke something. He wondered what would break first – his leg or his heart.

The door behind Cas squeaked and Gabe leaned down. “Dean, I’ll give you salted and sour candy for eternity if you made my little brother cry.”

“What the fuck happened with your family?” Dean asked Gabe. “He thinks they’re gonna kill him –”

“They’re fundamentalist Christians,” Gabe cut him off, reaching out to squeeze Cas’s shoulder. “Cassie?”

“Metatron always called queers abominations and said they were destined for eternal damnation,” Cas mumbled.

“I’m an abomination because I’m purposely insufferable,” Gabe said with a shrug, opening the back door to sit behind Dean and Cas. “Being queer has nothing to do with it, but I don’t think you have to worry about damnation. I don’t think God cares if we’re queer.”

“But –”

“No buts,” Gabe said, holding up a finger. “Metatron may believe in cruelty and fire and brimstone, but there’s plenty about love and compassion in the good book. I’m choosing to believe in the God that wants kindness, personally.”

Cas glanced at them around his knee. “Do you have a passage for that?”

Maybe it was a challenge for proof. Maybe it was a scream for a chance for his faith to redeem itself. Cas wasn’t sure.

Gabe squinted and thought for a moment. “First Peter,” they said after a second, “I think it was chapter four? ‘Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.’ I haven’t read it in a while, though. Haven’t gone to a service since I left.”

Dean muttered, “But you can still quote if off the top of your head.”

“Yeah, get raised in a radical sect and see how normal you end up,” Gabe said, leaning forward and flicking Dean’s ear before turning to Cas. “You okay?”

“I think my heart is going to burst out of my chest,” Cas mumbled. “Sorry for ruining your night.”

Gabe squeezed his shoulder. “You didn’t ruin anything. I probably should’ve eased you into the Roadhouse. Friday nights are always busy, and you were never one for crowds as a kid. You wanna go home?”

Cas went rigid before he realized that Gabe just meant the loft above the bakery, not Pontiac. “Yeah,” he murmured, relaxing a little. “If that’s all right.”

“Gimme five minutes.” Gabe pointed at Dean. “Keep him company.”

Dean nodded, watching Cas as he slowly uncurled himself. He didn’t say anything for a bit, instead reaching out and fixing the collar of his coat.

“We _are_ friends, you know,” Dean said softly after a few minutes of silence. “You mind if I drop by the bakery tomorrow?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s Gabe’s bakery.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Do you mind if I drop by the loft, specifically to hang out with you?” he asked.

Cas thought for a moment. “No, I don’t mind,” he decided. After a second, he added, “Gabe might.”

“Gabe won’t mind so long as you don’t destroy the loft,” Gabe said as they opened the passenger door. “Feel free to bring Sam by, too.”

“He and Jo are doing something,” Dean said. “Next time, though.”

Gabe shrugged. “Park in the alley and come through the back door, the stairwell goes straight to the loft.”

Dean grinned and gave a two-fingered salute. “See you tomorrow, then, Cas.”

“See you then.” Cas followed Gabe to their car, frowning at the Styrofoam containers in the backseat. There were at least four, labelled in Sharpie.

“Ellen insisted,” they explained. “So, uh, you wanna tell me what happened?”

Cas shifted in his seat, glad that Gabe driving meant they wouldn’t be looking at him. “I – I think I came out to Dean? But I didn’t mean to. I was talking to myself and he heard me.”

“Talking to yourself in the middle of a conversation with someone isn’t usually a good sign, Cassie.”

“I –” Cas sighed. “I feel like I’m hearing them in my head. Michael, and Metatron, and Naomi, like they’re still around and telling me what to do and think and be and it – it’s _loud.”_

Gabe glanced at Cas out of the corner of their eye. “I can try and find you a therapist, just say the word.”

Cas frowned and looked at them. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re traumatized,” Gabe said bluntly, “and have always been a little bit anxious. I saw someone when I first left. I still go to her sometimes. Not as often, but on occasion. Now, mine doesn’t see family members as a rule, but she could refer me to someone for you.”

He nodded. “That’d – I think that’d help. Thank you.”

Gabe patted their hands against the steering wheel. “I’m here for you, Cas,” they said. “But you have to tell me what you need. I’m not a mind reader, and it’ll be easier on both of us if you tell me when something’s wrong. I’m no good at guessing.”

“Will you tell me what you need?” Cas asked.

“I don’t need anything from you except brotherly support, and for you to keep your room clean and do your best in school.” Gabe parked behind the store, reaching around to grab the containers.

Cas took the containers Gabe handed him so they could unlock the back door. “What about help in the bakery?” The door swung open and the smell of bread greeted them in a wave that made Cas relax.

“I’ll always ask first, and if you’ve got homework or need to sleep or have plans, you’re welcome to say no,” Gabe said. “I still need to get you to the bank to set up an account.”

“Where would I get money?”

They stared at him, keys in the door to the loft. “From working in the bakery?” Gabe said it like it was obvious. “I’m not exploiting you for free labor, Cas, I’ve kept track of how much you’d have earned if you were a regular worker and set it aside. Did you think I was gonna use you for unpaid labor forever?”

Cas shrugged. “I thought it seemed fair, since you’re letting me stay with you.”

Gabe rolled their eyes and pushed the door open. “You’re killing me, Cas. You’re _family,_ you’re sixteen, I don’t expect anything from you. You staying with me is in no way a burden or an inconvenience, so get that thought out of your head.”

“Easier said than done,” Cas mumbled as he set the food in the fridge. He closed it and looked at the whiteboard, the blue ‘they/them’ in a messy scrawl.

Gabe shook their head. “I like having you here, Cas.” They nudged him away from the whiteboard and added in green ink, _‘find a therapist for Cas’._ “You’re welcome here, as long as you need. I promise.”

Despite himself, Cas still wasn’t sure he believed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modeled Cas's intrusive thoughts and panic attacks after some of my own. This chapter was tweaked a lot, so I'd love to hear what you think! Kudos, comments, anything is appreciated <3 Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Four

Dean showed up around mid-day, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He set it by the door with his shoes when Cas let him in, immediately homing in on Gabe’s vinyl collection while Cas sat on the couch.

“It’s not the worst,” he said, flipping through it. “They told me my collection was cock rock, but it’s really just heavy rock. They like pop, though, so I guess us clashing makes sense. Do you have a preference?”

Cas shook his head, watching Dean go through the records. “I like trying out a bit of everything,” he said. “There wasn’t much music around the house after Gabe left.”

“There was before?” Dean made faces at some of Gabe’s records, switching between disgust and confusion to moderate approval.

“Before Gabe left,” Cas said. “I think Michael got rid of the record player and TV when he figured out that they weren’t coming back. He blamed ‘outside influence’ for Gabe leaving.” He made air quotes with his fingers, making Dean snort.

“It sounds to me like it was him that made y’all leave,” Dean said.

“I think so,” Cas mumbled, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and resting his cheek on the blanket that covered the cushion. “But he’d never admit he was at fault. It’s easier to blame everything else than face that he drove us away.”

Dean glanced at Cas, who was still looking at him – but not watching him. His eyes were focused on the records rather than Dean, faraway and forlorn.

Dean found an album and put it on, treating the needle and record gently. Cas didn’t recognize the music, but he could tell that it was nowhere near Dean’s usual taste. It was more jazz-like, the singer’s voice deep and gravelly.

He pulled his legs closer when Dean ignored the empty chairs in favor of sitting beside him on the couch. “Can I ask you about your family?”

“Can I ask you about yours?” Cas returned, sitting sideways to face Dean.

“Sure.”

“Then yes, you can.”

Dean grinned and repositioned himself to face Cas, mirroring his pose. “So, your family had you and Gabe and Anna,” Dean said, “who all left to come to Kansas. Is there anyone besides your brother?”

“Hannah,” Cas hummed. “Our sister. She’s still there.”

“Older, younger? You’re not giving me a lot to work with, Cas.”

“Twin,” Cas said. “We were C-section babies.”

Dean frowned. “You said yesterday that your father was a pastor. What about your mom?”

Cas shrugged, looking down at the couch. “I don’t remember anything about her. Michael said she had difficulties when Hannah and I were born and didn’t last long.”

“And what’d Gabe tell you?”

“Nothing.” He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders, turning his eyes back to Dean. “Gabe never talked about her. Neither did Anna.”

Dean held up a hand, trying to count. “So, Anna is eighteen, Gabe is twenty-six – how old is Michael?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“That’s a bit of a gap between Gabe and Anna.”

Cas shrugged. “I never thought about it. Did you meet Anna?”

Dean nodded. “When she first got to town, I was helping out at the Roadhouse during the summer. We talked a few times, but she pretty clearly didn’t want to stay long. You haven’t seen her since you got here?”

Cas shook his head. “Gabe said she visited at Christmas but stayed as short a time as possible. I assumed she wanted to distance herself from us.”

“She might just wanna spread her wings a little bit, be her own person,” Dean said generously. “Okay, correct my math if I’m wrong, but Gabe got here five years ago, and your dad left nine years ago?”

Cas nodded. “Gabe had just graduated from school.” Cas shifted, pulling the blanket around him like he was a turtle in a shell.

“Do you know why he left?”

Cas frowned and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No one knows why. At least, no one will _tell_ me why.”

Dean hummed, pushing his legs out until his feet were on top of Cas’s, his toes wiggling in his socks. “Have you asked Gabe? Do you think they know?”

“I’m fairly certain they know,” Cas said, flexing his toes against the sole of Dean’s foot, “but I doubt they’ll tell me. They – they seem cagey about some things. Last night, before you got there, they were talking to Bobby and Jody at the Roadhouse and looked intense.”

Dean frowned. “Bobby’s been on edge lately,” he said. “He worries about me and Sam more, like, he keeps suggesting we stay with him, or he’ll follow us in his car to make sure we get home safe.”

“You don’t stay with him?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam and I still live in our house. Ellen and Bobby and Jody drop by pretty often to make sure we’ve got food and everything, but after Dad passed, Jody used one of her favors with the DA to let me get emancipated so Sam and I wouldn’t have to leave or be separated. It’s part of why I’m allowed to drive after curfew.”

Cas blinked. “Your mom’s not around?”

Dean shook his head, looking down at his feet. “She died when Sam was six months old,” he said. “To the day, actually. A socket blew in his nursery and she didn’t get out of the room.” He paused, jaw twitching as he swallowed. “I carried Sammy out of the house.”

Cas sucked in a breath. “You would’ve been –”

“Four,” Dean whispered, “almost five. Not five. Dad tried to save her, but – well.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured.

Dean shrugged, reaching up to wipe his eyes and grin at Cas, but it was weak. “I guess I forgot that you wouldn’t know. Most people know what’s happened with me and Sammy; Lawrence ain’t exactly small, but it’s quiet. Big news doesn’t happen, so the fire was all anyone thought of for years whenever they saw Dad. Then Sam and I got older and people would tell us they could see Mom in us, in Sam’s face, in my eyes, and – it was like a weight, cause I could tell that Dad only saw her when he saw us, too.”

Dean swallowed and rubbed his face with a hand. “Sorry, it’s – I don’t talk about it with Sam. He doesn’t remember Mom, and I – I think he won’t remember much about Dad. It’s been a few years and he doesn’t – he seems okay, without Dad around. They didn’t get along. Dad was a bit of a jerk about some things.”

“Like you being queer?” Cas guessed.

Dean snorted, wiping his eyes again. “Yeah, like me being queer, or Sam being trans.” He caught Cas’s eye. “You knew?”

Cas almost nodded before tilting his head, making a face. “Not exactly. I’d heard – rumors, I guess, whispers, but people would go quiet when they saw me listening. I wanted to meet him properly last night, but – well.”

“Yeah, I figured you might’ve heard,” Dean said. “People used to whisper about it a lot, but they don’t do it as often, not after I started fighting them for being dicks, and everyone knows that Gabe is out and proud. Sam wanted to talk to you at the Roadhouse but didn’t get a chance. I asked him if he wanted me to tell you, and he said it was okay. He doesn’t like doing the coming out thing as much anymore.”

“I can understand that,” Cas murmured.

“Dad didn’t like it,” Dean said, “but Sam’s stubborn. He told us he wanted to go by Sam and cut his hair with the kitchen scissors, and Dad blustered and got mad, so I just – came out right after him. Told Dad he better get used to the idea of two queer sons, since that was what he had.”

Dean sniffed, pausing for a second. “Dad hated it, but Sam had made up his mind about going by Sam and told all his classmates. Word spreads pretty fast when it’s a bunch of third graders telling everyone and their mother that the younger Winchester is trans and in their class. He and Jo were already friends and she got into a bunch of fights defending him until people learned to just – let him be.”

“Kids are shitty sometimes,” Cas murmured.

“Some are,” Dean said. “But Jo’s cool. And Charlie’s been out forever, so once she heard I was queer, she decided we were best friends. Stuck to me like gum on a shoe.”

Cas snorted. “She’s nice. How – how did Gabe respond, when they first found out?”

Dean tilted his head. “They were already out, by then,” he said. “They’d gone from dishwasher to line cook, but they had pronoun pins they’d cycle through as they changed. Gabe was actually the first person Sam talked to about gender. I think it helped, having an adult who, like, _knew_ what he was going through.”

Cas nodded, staying quiet for a moment. Dean didn’t continue, instead letting the music fill the silence. The album kept playing, jazz and piano and a deep voice.

“Sorry for freaking out last night,” Cas murmured after a song.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, waving a hand. “It wasn’t exactly light conversation.”

“Neither is this.”

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta have the heavy talks.” He stretched, looking around the room. “So, now you know about my parents and Sam, and I know that your older brother is a douchebag and you’ve got a twin. I’d say that’s even sharing. You wanna watch something?”

Cas looked at the TV, shrugging. He heard his stomach rumble and felt his ears heat up, but Dean laughed and stood up.

“What if we made lunch and watched a movie? I’m not Gabe, but I’m a pretty decent cook.”

Cas smiled and opened the fridge, letting Dean peer inside. After a moment, Dean grabbed the carton of eggs and held them out to Cas.

“Egg salad?” he asked.

Cas shrugged. “Sure. What else do we need?”

He rattled off the ingredients, finding a pot and filling it with water while Cas grabbed the things Dean named.

“You ever make egg salad before?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. “I’ve only had it at church potlucks,” he admitted.

Food wasn’t something Cas knew a lot about. The kitchen in Pontiac tended to have the barest necessities – bread, pasta, milk, cheese, peanut butter, and the like. There wasn’t much variance and he had learned how to stretch out portions to last a long time, since Michael was inclined to either eat at the church or forget about food entirely. It was usually reminders from Anna that would make him go to the grocery store, if he didn’t just ask her to do the shopping herself. After she left, Hannah would remind him and he’d get her and Cas to shop.

Grocery shopping had always been Gabe’s responsibility, after lunch at the church. They’d made rules that Cas was still inclined to follow when it became Anna’s job, then his and Hannah’s – keep a hand on the cart, don’t go down a different aisle alone, don’t go against the flow of traffic, try to find the cheapest option available, consult with the cook before substituting an ingredient. The food they ate became more basic when Gabe left – they had been the cook in the house, always able to cobble together something edible with limited ingredients.

Now, Gabe kept their kitchen well-stocked with a variety of different ingredients and made most of their dishes from scratch, always loading Cas’s plate before their own and making extra for him to reheat later. Cas would try to help, but Gabe moved like a whirlwind when they cooked and had a tendency to shoo Cas to the other side of the counter so they wouldn’t run into him. Cooking was the way they worked through stress, and Cas had a feeling it had to do with how useful it could make Gabe feel, that they were providing something of substance for Cas.

Dean looked at Gabe’s spinning spice rack and grabbed a few bottles, offering them to Cas.

Cas tilted his head. “I thought egg salad was just mayonnaise, relish, and mustard?”

Dean clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “In its saddest form, sure, but _good_ egg salad has spices in it. Not too many spices; I usually do salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika and chop up some onions. Are there onions?”

Cas found green onions in the fridge and held them up. Dean grinned and grabbed them.

“Perfect,” he said. “Onion powder can work, too, but I like real onions. Here, chop these up for me.”

While Cas chopped the onions, Dean mixed the mayonnaise, mustard, and relish with the spices he’d picked, not bothering to measure them. He let Cas stir the onions in while he popped bread into the toaster and pulled the boiling pot off the stove. He ran cold water into it before offering Cas a cooled down egg to peel.

“Egg salad is one of Sam’s favorites,” Dean admitted. “Normally, I cook for him, but he’s tall enough to reach the stove now so I’ve been teaching him bits and pieces. He still says that it tastes better when I make it, but it all tastes the same, really.”

“Secret ingredient is love?” Cas asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Dean snorted, taking the peeled egg from him and tossing out the shell. “The secret ingredient is garlic powder,” he said, grabbing the bottle and shaking it at Cas. “Every time. If nothing else, we’re safe from vampires.”

Cas took the bottle and examined it. “Love is stored in the garlic powder,” he said.

Dean laughed and Cas smiled.

* * *

The next day, Cas spent most of his morning in the bakery. One of the openers had an emergency and Gabe had shaken Cas awake with an amount of apologetic care that had Cas immediately agreeing to help.

Gabe had enough time to get the displays filled and give Cas a sheet with the prices listed out before they had to open the doors. The customers trickled in one after another, slowly at first with simple requests, but once it passed seven in the morning, waves of people were coming in and Gabe took over the register to get Cas to fill surprisingly large orders, all from people dressed sharply and impeccably.

Then it clicked for Cas that it was Sunday. The customers dressed to the nines asking for dozens of doughnuts were getting them for church.

He glanced at Gabe, who was chatting amicably with every customer that came in. There wasn’t tension in their shoulders or tight smiles or thinly veiled irritability – they were all casual conversation, recognizing their regulars and moving with a fluid speed that made Cas wonder how they were so _relaxed_ when their history with church was less than sparkling.

“Take a breath, Cas.” Gabe patted his shoulder once there was a lull, squeezing it a little. “Sorry to throw you in the deep end.”

“Are Sundays always like this?” Cas looked at the tongs in his hand and scanned the display, trying to remember where the holder was. There was a separate case for products with nuts that had their own tongs. He didn’t want to put them in the wrong place – cross contamination. Allergies. He clicked the tongs, pleased at the sound they made.

Gabe pointed at the empty holder before turning to the half-empty coffee pot. “Usually,” they said. “Not so much in the summer, but the rest of the year, sure.”

“It doesn’t – it doesn’t bother you?” Cas accepted the Styrofoam cup Gabe offered him, trying a sip and wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste. He gave it back to them.

“Not anymore.” They dumped a few mini containers of cream into the cup with some sugar, stirring it before giving it back to Cas. “It wasn’t always like this, there was a build up as the store got more popular, so I got to adjust as it happened. Now I’ve got a routine down pat, for the most part.”

Cas shifted, sipping the coffee. The cream had cooled it down and cut down the bitterness and made it easier to drink. He drummed his fingers along the side of the cup. “I meant…” He trailed off, trying to find his words.

“Meant what?” Gabe dumped an exorbitant amount of sugar into their own cup, watching Cas as they stirred it in, waiting for him to talk.

There wasn’t a Bible in the loft except Cas’s own, hidden where he didn’t have to look at it. He knew that Gabe hadn’t gone back to church and Cas hadn’t asked for directions to one, however much he felt weird not hearing a sermon or socializing with a congregation every Sunday.

Religion hung heavily between them. Of all the books Gabe owned, not one was a Bible or theological text like they’d grown up around - they were mostly fiction, spanning across genres with a small shelf of non-fiction and a few books of myths tucked in at the end, Greek and Norse and Egyptian. No Apocrypha, no King James, no Book of Mormon, no book of Psalms or select verses, no illustrated edition like Cas remembered Gabe reading to him when he was little – no indication that they were a pastor’s child, that they grew up in a church. Nothing to indicate where they’d come from, what they’d left behind.

“Most of them looked like they were going to church,” Cas said at last.

“Most of them are,” Gabe replied. “They want good food for their brunches and Sunday School groups, so they come here.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Being around them?”

Gabe paused, running a finger along the rim of his coffee cup. “At first, it did. Some would try and invite me to services, after a while – mostly regulars who thought I never took a day off.”

“You don’t,” Cas said, biting back a yawn.

“They don’t have to know that,” Gabe said. “It felt like they were saying, ‘come to our service so we can save you from yourself,’ but that lessened after a while. Most of the churches around here aren’t like ours was – it’s still church, still lessons through the Bible, but it’s not as harsh, not as all encompassing. Their invitations weren’t meant to be ‘let us save you’ as much as they were ‘this is how we show you’re welcome, by inviting you into our social circle’.”

“But you haven’t gone?”

Gabe shook their head. “Religious trauma is a hell of a thing, Cassie.” They sighed, leaning against the register. “Sundays are… They’re a routine day. It used to be the routine of getting up, getting you guys ready for church, sitting through a terrible sermon about how God wants us to suffer, then letting Michael spend all day at the church while I tried to wrangle three kids in a grocery store.”

They waved a hand toward the store, bright and empty. “Now the routine is wake up, get the kitchen stocked for the day and fill the displays enough to last first rush and work the waves of customers as they come. I usually have a lull from nine to noon. The earliest services start at eight, and the last ones end around noon. Sometimes people come in for after-church treats, but a lot of the afternoon customers are just regular customers.”

“Who all want fresh bread for the week?” Cas asked, nodding toward the kitchen, where the smell of baking bread was wafting out toward them.

“Among other things,” Gabe said. “Let me refill the cases. Watch the counter.”

Cas nodded, shifting to stand in front of the register, still cradling his cup of coffee. He wasn’t sure about the flavor, but he liked the warmth it put in his hands.

The bell above the door rang and Cas looked up, blinking when he saw Dean, Sam trailing behind him.

“Mornin’,” Dean said, walking up to the display. “I thought you’d be upstairs.”

“I’m just filling in.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Do you – are you ordering anything?” He felt his cheeks and ears go warm. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to this.”

Dean shrugged. “No worries. Sammy, you know what you want?” He turned to his brother, who shifted to hide behind him, watching Cas with narrowed eyes.

“Hi, Sam,” Cas said, waving a hand.

“You’re not Gabe,” Sam muttered, gripping Dean’s jacket. “Normally Gabe’s working the register.”

“They’re in the kitchen,” Cas said. “I’m their brother, Cas. Are you usually in here a lot?”

Sam nodded. “Every Sunday. It’s tradition.”

“And whenever the mood hits,” Dean added. He ruffled Sam’s hair, snorting when Sam slapped his hand away. “Sam’s a bit picky about what he eats. Gabe’s always got something that’s good for breakfasts, though.”

Sam puffed out his cheeks and glared at Dean before tugging on his sleeve, whispering something to him.

Dean sighed. “You have to tell _Cas_ what you want, Sam. He doesn’t bite.”

Sam pouted and looked at Cas, pointing at the display case. Cas moved to try and follow Sam’s finger, but there were at least three things he could be asking for.

“This one?” Cas asked, pointing with his tongs.

Sam shook his bed, almost mumbling, “No, that one.” He pointed his finger again, not touching the case.

Cas pointed again and Sam shook his head again. Dean sighed behind him but didn’t offer any words.

Cas pointed once more, and Sam nodded.

“How many?” he asked, crouching down. Here, he was below Sam’s eye level and could see him tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“Just one.” His voice was still quiet, but Cas nodded and slid his choice – raspberry filled with chocolate glaze – into a paper bag. He set it on the counter where Sam could reach it.

“Anything else?” He looked at Dean, who was looking over the case thoughtfully.

“Yeah – Sammy, here.” He flicked the bag with the doughnut. “Two bags of bagels, one plain and one everything, and – oh, that’s new. Bacon doughnut? Sammy, want to split one to try it?” Sam nodded, holding his bag carefully. “Okay, one of those and a Boston Cream, and that should do it.”

Cas nodded and put everything on the counter, punching the amounts into the register. Five dollars per bag of bagels, dollar fifty per doughnut – fourteen fifty.

“Tax,” Gabe said, walking up behind him with a tray of doughnuts. They pointed it out on the screen, letting Cas tap it. “You guys stocking up for the week?”

Dean nodded. “Yep. Bagels for the week, then we gotta get groceries. Sam wants to try out some new recipes.”

“What are you planning?” Gabe asked, looking at Sam as he refilled the cases.

To Cas’s surprise, Sam slid out from behind Dean, eyes bright as he replied, “Charlie gave me a recipe for curry and we’ve got most of the stuff already, and Jo found one for dumplings that we’re gonna try.”

“Did you try the banana bread recipe?”

Sam nodded, swaying slightly. “It was a little dry, I don’t think we added enough bananas to it, but it was good with milk. Dean wants to add nuts next time.”

Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at Gabe. “Meant to ask, do walnuts or pecans go in banana bread?”

“Walnuts,” Gabe and Sam said at the same time.

“You could add pecans,” Gabe said, tilting their head as they thought. “I tried having both kinds for a while, but banana-walnut sold better.”

“Pecans are for pies,” Sam said decisively.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Gabe, who shook their head and held up their hands.

“No,” they said. _“No._ Do you realize how hard it is to bake pies? I’ve already got more variety than most bakers would even attempt, Winchester.”

“Always room for growth,” Dean said, grinning crookedly at them.

Gabe gave him a flat look. “Not unless my floor space grows, too. It’s already a game of Tetris back here, I don’t have anywhere near the amount of space necessary to carry _cakes,_ let alone pies.”

“Weren’t you thinking of expanding?” Sam asked.

Gabe nodded. “I’m still working on it, and if it works, then I can consider adding to the bakery stock. But the candy stock would take precedence.”

Cas blinked. “You want to expand the store?”

Gabe pointed to the wall across from them. “Knock that wall down and add some square footage, if possible. You’ve seen how cramped the kitchen can get, if I could add a second one over there and dedicate it to the candy side, I’d free up space in this one, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of the displays already being full. Where would I _put_ the pies?”

“On top of the cases?” Sam asked.

“Or, put the bags of bagels on a shelf out here?” Dean suggested. “Then shift some of their shelves around and you’d have space for – what, two pies per shelf? And it connects directly to the kitchen, doesn’t it?”

Gabe blinked and looked at the shelves that held the bags of bagels, picking up a bag. They held up a hand, waving it in front of the shelves as they muttered to themself. After a minute they scowled and put the bagels back, turning to the display case and scooping some cookies into a bag that they passed to Dean.

“I hate that you thought of that before me,” they said.

Dean smirked, offering Sam a cookie.

Gabe nodded at him, leaning against the display. “Sam, you finally get to meet my little brother?”

Sam nodded, glancing at Cas with the same apprehension as before. “Yeah,” he said, voice small. He shifted behind Dean again, going to hold onto his arm.

“C’mon, kid, he doesn’t bite.” Gabe reached out to squeeze Cas’s shoulder.

Sam puffed out his cheeks. “Dean already said that,” he said petulantly.

Gabe tilted their head. “What’s wrong?”

Sam shuffled his feet, looking at the ground and mumbling something.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Gabe cupped a hand around their ear, smile faltering when Sam didn’t react. They looked at Dean with a raised brow, but Dean just shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check it.

Sam looked at Cas and bit his lip, waiting a second before darting toward the counter, waving a hand for Cas to come closer.

Cas tilted his head, shifting out from behind the register to lean against the counter, bringing himself to eye-level with Sam. “What’s up?”

Sam whispered, hazel eyes wide, “Did Dean tell you about me?”

Cas blinked. “What do you –” He paused, remembering what Dean had told him yesterday, that Sam was trans. “Oh. Yes, he did. Is that okay with you?”

Sam nodded. “I don’t like bringin’ it up, and most people already know, but he said he’d tell you, but I forgot to ask him before we came in.” He patted his hands on the counter. “You don’t mind?”

Cas smiled softly. “I don't think it's a matter of me minding, but it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he said gently with a shrug. “You say you’re a boy, so you’re a boy.”

“So, you’re not gonna call me a girl?” Sam fixed Cas with a sharp stare. “Or the wrong name, or Dean’s sister, or anything?”

Cas shook his head. “No, I won’t. That’d be wrong.” After a pause, he added, “You know, Cas isn’t my given name. It’s a nickname, but I like it better than my full name.”

Sam nodded sagely. “That’s how I picked my name,” he said. “I like being Sam. It’s how Gabe got their name, too, right?” He looked at Gabe, who looked away from restocking doughnuts to nod.

“Yep,” they said, popping the ‘p’ on their word. “Threw out the full name and kept the short version. Dean’s the only one here who goes by his given name.”

“Every nickname for Dean you’ve tried has added syllables,” Dean said dryly, pocketing his phone. “I’ll stick with being Dean, thanks.”

Cas snorted. He could imagine Gabe rattling off nicknames easily – it was one of his ways to try and make him laugh when he was bored in church, making silly nicknames for anyone. If they got Cas to crack and laugh, they considered it a win. If Michael heard and chewed them out for misbehaving, it was a loss.

Sam poked Cas’s hand, his head tilted to the side. “Doesn’t Gabe call you Cassie?”

Cas blinked. “Sometimes. Not usually. Mostly when they want to me to remember that I’m their _little_ brother, I think.”

“That’s not true in the slightest,” Gabe objected. “It’s a term of endearment.”

“But only Gabe gets to call you that?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, it’s just a Gabe thing.”

Sam nodded. “Dean’s the only one that gets to call me Sammy,” he said. In a whisper, he added, “It sounds wrong coming from anyone else, like they’re still thinking of me as a girl. He’s the only one that makes it sound like a boy’s name.”

Cas nodded. Softly, he said, “That makes sense. I think Gabe calls me Cassie as a reminder.”

Sam tilted his head, brows furrowed. “A reminder of what?”

Cas inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a second before exhaling. “That they care, I think,” he murmured. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“You could ask,” Sam said simply. “I ask Dean a lot of questions when I’m confused.”

Cas blinked and let out a small laugh, a quick puff of air from his nose. “Gabe told me something similar the other day.”

Sam grinned brightly. “I learned it from them! They tried to tell Dean to ask more questions, too, but he’s stubborn about it.”

Cas felt something heavy flicker in his chest, but he didn’t know what it was. Melancholy, maybe? Or maybe it was just plain sadness. He tried to push it down, regardless.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

Dean reached out to ruffle Sam’s hair. “We should get going, before their next rush comes in. See you tomorrow, Cas.”

“See you.” He lifted a hand in farewell, dropping it with a sigh when the door swung shut behind them, the bell tinkling in the empty bakery.

Gabe patted his shoulder. “You’re doing great,” they said before going back in the kitchen.

Cas let out a heavy sigh, his arms still bracing him against the counter. “It doesn’t feel like it,” he whispered.

* * *

The therapist Gabe had found was a woman named Rowena MacLeod and Cas had never felt more out of place than he did entering her office. He had expected something plain and simple, just a pair of chairs across from each other and muted colors and bookshelves, but it was large and loud. Bright purple and red beaded pillows laid on a gray couch and matching chair. Her desk was shoved into a corner, only holding a small laptop with a cup of coffee, the shelves below it full of thick medical books. A flag was hung by the desk, bright blue crossed with a white ‘X’, and there were wooden tables under the long windows that were covered in rainbows of art supplies, matching stools tucked underneath them.

“Hello, dearie.” She greeted him warmly, shaking his hand and gesturing to the couch with a broad smile. “A pleasure to meet you. Call me Rowena. Do you have a preference for what I call you?”

“Uh – Cas, please,” he said. He sat down and felt the cushions sink beneath him – they were very squishy, and he resisted the urge to pick up one of the pillows and hug it, instead propping his ankle on his knee, keeping his hands in his lap.

“Cas it is.” She sat down in the chair, holding a pen in one hand and a legal pad in her lap. “This is just going to be an intake session, where I get to know a bit about you and why you’re here, so I can figure out the best way to help you.”

Cas nodded, looking at his hands. After a beat of silence, he realized Rowena was watching him, eyes bright and smile soft. “Oh – um. Gabe thought I should – they thought I’d benefit from therapy.”

“Gabe is your older sibling?” Rowena said.

Cas nodded. “They – you know them?”

“Only in passing,” Rowena said. “They called to set up your appointment, but I only know their name and pronouns, though I presume they’re the one you were sitting with in the waiting room. Now, Cas, may I ask you a few questions, or would you like to start us off?”

Cas blinked. “Questions are fine,” he said. He didn’t know where to start. Questions would give him an indicator.

“Okay.” She looked at her legal pad for a second. “When did you come to Lawrence?”

“About a month ago,” Cas said. “Early February. The sixth, I think.”

She nodded, writing quickly. “And you live with Gabe?”

“Yes. Above the bakery.”

“Trickster’s Delights?”

Cas nodded.

“Where did you live before?”

“Pontiac, Illinois.”

Rowena paused in her writing, pulling the tip of her pen from the page to rest her hand on it and look at Cas. “That’s a long way from here,” she said softly.

Cas looked down, first at his hands, then at the pillow beside him. Frowning, he picked it up, running his fingers over the beaded embroidery.

“Do you still have family there?” Rowena asked.

Cas nodded. “Our brother and sister,” he said. “Michael and Hannah. And our aunt and uncle. Some cousins, too.”

“Did they send you here?”

He shook his head. “I ran away.” His voice was a whisper. “They took over the church when my father left. They – they changed it. They made it hateful and cruel and –” He broke off, clenching the pillow until the beads dug into his hand. “They don’t know I’m here.”

Rowena blinked. “Well, your paperwork has Gabe listed as your guardian. Do you know where your father is?”

Cas shook his head again, blinking furiously and wishing tears weren’t starting to pool. “No,” he breathed, “I don’t. Gabe doesn’t, either.”

Rowena set her pen down and offered Cas a box of tissues, waiting patiently as he took one and rubbed at his eyes. “Who was your guardian in Pontiac?”

“Michael,” he said. He could feel his breaths getting shallower and his face heating up and the tears gathering in his eyes and he hated how easily they flowed, how his breath stuttered as he tried to hide his face behind the tissue.

Rowena was patient, writing down a note as he tried to collect himself.

Tried. Failed. His breaths got shallower as he tried to make them deeper and he squeezed the pillow against himself, putting a hand over his face to pinch at the bridge of his nose and try to hide.

 _“Men shouldn’t cry, Castiel,”_ Michael’s voice whispered from behind him.

He heard a quiet hiss escape his mouth as he tried to breathe out. His heart rate picked up, thumping against his chest.

 _“Don’t be a crybaby.”_ Naomi’s harsh admonishment came from beside him.

“Cas, dear?” Rowena was leaning forward in her chair, worry etched on her face. “Focus on my voice. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Cas blinked and opened his mouth, but he couldn’t get the words from his brain to his throat to his tongue to make the right sounds.

“Take your time, dearie,” she said.

Cas shook his head, dropping it into his hands and hunching over until his head was between his knees.

 _“You shouldn’t embarrass yourself any further.”_ Metatron’s voice, condescending and sickly sweet, came from above him like it always did.

“I hear them,” he whispered. “They’re not here but I _hear them.”_

“What are they saying?” Rowena asked.

Cas scrunched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into his hair. “Reprimands. Scolding. I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Crying is healthy, Cas,” she said softly, leaning forward in her chair. “It’s a release of emotions. It’s okay to cry.”

He shook his head. “No, I need to _stop_ ,” he said through a sob. “Why can’t I _stop?”_

He briefly wished Gabe was there to squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his hair or pat his back, _something_ to ground him back to Earth, to distract from their voices.

“Who do you hear, Cas?” Rowena asked.

Cas sniffed. “Michael. Naomi. Metatron. They’re not – I _know_ they’re not here, but I can _hear them.”_ He dug his fingers against his scalp, pulling at his hair.

“Cas, look at me, please?”

Cas shook his head, but Rowena didn’t say anything further, instead just letting him cry with his head in his hands.

Slowly, slowly, he felt his breathing get easier. It wasn’t normal, not quite – it was still shallow and fast, and his face was warm and red – but it was easier to get the air in.

His heart slowed down. It still felt like it wanted to burst from his chest, but the rhythm was less panicked, less painful.

He dropped his hands from his hair to his face, wiping at his eyes. Rowena held out a box of tissues and he took one, drying his face and blowing his nose.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. He crumpled the tissue in his hand, looking for a trash can instead of looking at Rowena.

“Don’t be,” she said kindly. She leaned back in her chair, looking at her pad of notes.

“When you hear them, where are their voices coming from?” Rowena asked.

“What?” Cas blinked and stared at her.

“Are they coming from down the hall or across the room, or do they sound more like they’re inside your own head?”

“I – my head,” Cas said. “They’re – all around my head, though.”

“What do you mean?”

He picked up the pillow from where it laid atop his legs, hugging it against his chest. “Naomi’s voice is around my ears and Metatron’s is above me, like he’s hovering over me, and Michael’s is at the back of my head.” He tapped the back of his neck, where his skull met his spine. “Right at the base of my skull, I guess.”

Rowena nodded, writing on her pad of paper.

“You think I’m crazy,” Cas muttered.

“Not in the slightest,” she said. “Though I avoid using the word ‘crazy’ to describe anyone in general.”

“I’m hearing voices that aren’t there. I’m hallucinating. Hallucinations are crazy.”

“You’re not hallucinating, nor are you crazy,” she said. “Cas, what you’re experiencing are called intrusive thoughts. They’re more common than you realize, and I can help you learn how to deal with them.”

Cas grimaced, squeezing the pillow tighter. “Are you going to give me a laundry list of all the things wrong with me and a bunch of pills?”

Rowena tilted her head. “I’m going to help you learn how to recognize and acknowledge what you’re feeling and cope in a healthy manner, if you’ll let me. I’d hazard that it’s a bit early for me to give you a serious diagnosis, but I would like to start a plan for your therapy.”

Cas picked at the beads again, rolling them under his fingers and not looking at Rowena. “You’re not even going to tell me what’s wrong with me?” he muttered.

“I’m not going to make a preemptive call on any diagnosis,” she said.

Cas sighed and didn’t say anything, staring at the rug under his shoes as he chewed on his lower lip.

Rowena didn’t sigh or shift like she was annoyed and wanted him to talk. Instead, she wrote something down before setting her pen down.

“Would you like to continue?” she asked gently.

Cas paused and stopped rolling the beads between his fingers before looking up and nodding, eyes still wet.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”

Rowena smiled at him and he felt some of his apprehension disappear – he had a feeling it’d be uncomfortable, but he was out of tears already and his words were coming back to coherence. He could talk, and maybe he’d feel better when he did.

He hoped so, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *adds a therapy plot*  
> Also me: *hasn't been in therapy in years, can't remember how it worked, just that i cried a lot during the first session*  
> Yep, it took almost 20k before Sam and Cas had an actual conversation. This was around the point that I bit the bullet and divvied the fic into chapters. I had these four finished before I started posting, but now school's started so my time is split between writing and schoolwork. I'm working on chapter five but I make no promises as to when it'll be finished. It'll be a surprise for me as much as it will be for you.  
> Until then, comments and kudos are always welcome! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o, school started up last month so I haven't been able to work on this as frequently as I want to, but here's a chapter! I hope you enjoy it. <3

Rowena explained to Cas that her form of therapy was art therapy. The second session he had, she ignored the couch and chair and sat him at the long tables under the windows, all her art supplies surrounding him.

“I’m not very good at art,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to be,” she said. She handed him a smock and put a lump of clay in front of him. “Have you worked with clay before?”

“In elementary school. It’s messy.”

“Which is why we have smocks,” Rowena said, putting a paint-stained cup of water between them as she sat. “Though if anything else catches your eye, you’re welcome to try it.”

Cas shook his head and pushed a finger into the clay, enjoying the give. He hadn’t touched clay since fifth grade, when their art class made plates. Hannah had etched a Psalm around the edge of hers, neat handwriting encased in teal paint and glaze. He’d drawn bees in a garden, splotches of yellow against bright green grass and blue skies and red flowers. The teacher had complimented Hannah’s and just nodded at his, like they’d both met her expectations.

“Art was Hannah’s thing,” he said softly, pulling off a piece of clay and rolling it into a ball. “We made plates in fifth grade. Hers looked the nicest and mine was just – okay, I guess.”

“Were you jealous of her?” Rowena asked. “For being better at art?” She rolled her own lump of clay flat on the table.

Cas shook his head. “Not really. She spent time trying to be better at things. I just figured out what was good enough and moved on.” He picked up more clay, pulling the lump apart and trying to flatten them with his hands. Rowena pointed at a bucket of small tools and he picked out a small dowel rod, using it as a rolling pin. “I liked cooking, though. She didn’t. I was better at that.”

“Did you cook a lot?”

“If I could.” He pulled out one of the plastic knives, dragging it along the flattened clay to scratch out a shape. “Michael would complain. He thought I used too much salt and pepper, but Hannah and I liked the way I made it. Michael didn’t cook a lot. That was Gabe’s job, before he left.”

“They divided tasks?”

He shook his head again. “Michael started working at the church as soon as he got out of school. After our father left, he spent more time there. Gabe took care of us and the house as best he could, but –”

He broke off, focusing on the clay in front of him. The shapes were simple, the same doodles he’d drawn a thousand times in the margins of essays and worksheets. He remembered his fifth grade art teacher showing them how to score the clay where it would join together and scratched along the sides before trying to join them. He frowned before Rowena dipped her finger in the cup of water, making similar progress on her own creation.

“Michael had an idea in his head of what we should do that was proper,” he said after a period of quiet. “Gabe disagreed with him on almost all of them. “

“Almost all?”

“They didn’t want Hannah or me or Anna messing with the lawnmower,” Cas said. He smiled slightly. “I think that was more because he didn’t want us to get hurt, though, on Gabe’s part.”

“How else did they differ?”

Cas paused in his motions. He’d made a bee, with wings and antennae and a stinger, and was making a second one. He pinched one end of his current bee, rolling it into a long stinger.

“Gabe liked being around us,” he said after a moment. “Michael – Michael always seemed annoyed that we were there to bother him, but he still expected us to have dinner ready and our chores done while he was at the church. But he didn’t want to hear us, ever.”

Cas squeezed the clay, frowning at the lopsided almost-bee before squishing it and rolling it back into a ball.

“Did Gabe spend a lot of time at the church?”

“No. He worked at a local restaurant most days and was always waiting for us when we got home. He – he made it fun. He made us forget that our father was gone and would joke around.”

“I take it Michael wasn’t much of a joker?”

Cas shook his head. He squeezed the ball of clay, feeling it try and go between his fingers. “He was always serious. Or angry. He got mad a lot.”

He remembered the last thing Michael said to him before he left, a harsh, muttered reminder before he went to his room that there was seminary in the morning and he should be mindful of his interpretations, unless he wanted to embarrass himself again.

Michael hadn’t liked the comparison he’d drawn during that morning’s seminary, between taking the Eucharist and the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’. He hadn’t meant for Michael to even hear it, but watching Metatron dilute the wine with water had given him a thought and he shared it with Hannah.

Hannah found it interesting, the idea that taking Christ’s blood in a symbolic form made him family.

Michael found it blasphemous to consider Christ family or liken him to a normal human.

Cas thought that was the entire point of Christ, that he was just a man, but he didn’t want Michael to yell at him anymore before school.

Part of him wondered what had happened in the next seminary. He’d been in Missouri when Michael and Hannah would have woken up – had they skipped seminary to look for him? Did they even notice he was gone? Did Michael care? Did Hannah?

He realized he’d rolled the clay into a long, thin rope and crumpled it back together.

“He was learning how to be a preacher,” Cas said softly. “I used to – I used to think that was the goal, be like the rest of our family and run the church, but I’m not sure anymore.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He frowned and picked the plastic knife back up, pressing it into the clay aimlessly. “I – I only vaguely remember my father’s sermons, but they were kinder. He taught the kids’ Sunday school class and he’d make it – he made it digestible and easy and ask us what we thought the passages meant. When Metatron took over, he would tell us what they meant and – discourage analysis, I guess. Michael did the same thing, give us one interpretation and tell us anything else was wrong.”

He used the side of the knife to press the clay flat, scratching at it. “I liked thinking about the passages, though. I’d only talk to Hannah about them, ‘cause she wouldn’t tell Michael, and Michael would tell me I was wrong if he heard me.”

“Would Gabe?”

Cas shook his head. “Gabe liked listening to us,” he said. “Likes, I guess. He helps me with my English homework a lot. He likes analyzing things.”

“Michael doesn’t?”

“No,” Cas said. “I don’t think Michael likes much of anything, though, especially if we were doing it. The only thing he really couldn’t find fault with us doing was reading, but he had ideas on what we should and shouldn’t read, and he didn’t want to hear about any of it.”

He blinked, surprised to find his eyes wet as he stared at the clay crucifix he’d made. “I think he thought of us as an inconvenience more than anything,” he said, feeling his voice get raspy. As he said it, he knew it was true.

* * *

“You should come over Friday night,” Dean said one day during science, hunched over a Bunsen burner at their lab table with Charlie.

“Oh, yes! You can join game night!” Charlie said, wiggling on her stool.

Cas blinked. “Game night?” he asked.

“Every Friday at Dean’s house,” Charlie said with a nod. “Unless Benny’s busy with the restaurant, then it’s movie night.”

“He’s free this week, though,” Dean said. “So, game night.”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, taking the flint from Dean when he started making sparks over the fire. “I – I help Gabe with the stock at the bakery after close a lot. He might need help.”

“He closes the bakery at five,” Dean said as he tried to reach for the flint. “Charlie comes over once she’s done with family dinner, she can pick you up when you’re done in the bakery. It’s usually around seven.”

“It’s fun,” Charlie said. She smiled brightly at Cas. “We stay in the basement and sleep down there and make breakfast in the morning.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dean said. He shrugged at Cas. “Sam’s spending the night at Jo’s, so it’s just us, no sixth graders.”

Cas blinked. “What about – shouldn’t there be adults?”

The only adult at his house in Pontiac was Michael, but he didn’t approve visiting anyone’s house unless they were in the church and their parent was present, and never overnight.

Dean scoffed and Charlie laughed. “Yeah, the adults used to think that, too. Sheriff was worried ‘til she came downstairs and found Charlie painting my nails with _Lord of the Rings_ playing. Someone usually drops by to make sure the house is in one piece, but so long as we’re not drinking or doing drugs, it’s just us.”

“Somehow they all forgot that I’m a lesbian,” Charlie said. “I don’t know what they _thought_ we were gonna do, but apparently watching movies wasn’t it.”

“We’ve got phones in case of an emergency, so beats me.” Dean shrugged, looking at Cas. “Ask Gabe if he’d be okay with you coming by. You don’t have to spend the night if you don’t want to, I can drive you back at night or in the morning, but it’d be fun if you came.”

Cas tilted his head, spinning the flint in his hand until Charlie took it. He wanted to go, but it made him nervous, the thought of going somewhere where Gabe wasn’t within shouting distance. Until now, he hadn’t really considered going to anyone’s house when they could just visit the loft if he warned Gabe ahead of time. Even if Gabe wasn’t in the loft with them, he was usually downstairs in the bakery – close by in case of emergency, though they hadn’t had one.

“I’ll ask,” he said. Dean beamed at him and he felt his stomach tie itself into a new knot.

* * *

To his surprise, Gabe was enthusiastic at the prospect of Cas going to Dean’s game night.

“You’ve never spent the night at anyone’s house,” Gabe said over dinner. “It’s a good experience to have. Besides, it’s Charlie and Dean. Worst that’ll happen is Monopoly. Whatever Charlie says, don’t trade properties to let her finish a set. Fastest way to get knocked off the board.”

Cas went stiff on his stool. “We never played board games,” he said.

Gabe patted his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. “They’re easy to learn,” he said. “And Dean offered to drive you back?”

Cas nodded.

Gabe shrugged. “Then you’re in good hands. I think you’ll enjoy yourself, Cas.”

“Did you ever spend the night at someone’s house?” Cas asked. “Before – before, I mean.”

Gabe tilted his head. “I spent the night at Garth’s a few times,” he said. “Back in elementary school. It was fun – staying up late, watching movies and eating snacks. We didn’t do it as much once middle school started, though.”

Cas blinked, letting Gabe take his empty plate when he stood up. “How come?”

“You were born.” Gabe ruffled Cas’s hair. “You took precedent, kiddo. Let me wash up and I’ll help you pack what you need for the weekend, ‘kay?”

Cas felt like there was more Gabe wasn’t saying, but he just nodded and agreed.

* * *

Dean answered the door and let them both in, accepting Charlie’s hug before she slipped deeper into the house, disappearing from view while Cas stood in the foyer.

“Don’t mind that,” Dean said after shutting and locking the door. “She and Benny have a game of Risk going for a month that they only get to touch when I’m distracted.”

“Risk?” Cas asked, taking off his shoes and lining them up beside Dean’s beat up boots and Charlie’s Converse.

“Board game. Conquer the world with armies. I got knocked off the board the first night we played.” Dean shrugged. “They play it for a while and I watch and eventually we play a different game, but we leave the Risk board alone. If you mess up the pieces, Charlie’ll have your head.”

Cas faltered, squeezing the strap of his bag. “Good to know,” he breathed, looking around the room.

“Want a tour?” Dean didn’t wait for a response before waving for Cas to follow him, pointing out the bathroom, kitchen, living room.

There was clutter, but not much mess. The kitchen table had papers and books on it, but the counters were clean with bananas on a hook and apples in a bowl. The shelves in the living room were crammed full of books and pictures, there was a laptop on the coffee table, and the study had a clean desk with a monitor and a pile of mail that Dean swept into a drawer.

He dragged Cas upstairs, pointing at the closed doors.

“Sam’s room,” he said, knocking on one door and pointing to the one across from it, “bathroom, and the other is the spare.”

Cas gestured to a closed door at the other end of the hall. “What about that room?”

Dean shifted from foot to foot. “That was my parents’ room,” he said. “We don’t go in there.”

Cas nodded. “Okay.”

Dean opened the last door at the end of the hall, letting Cas peak inside.

“My room,” he said simply.

It was messy, but not to an extreme – some clothes had missed the hamper, a dresser drawer was open, and the bed was made somewhat haphazardly. There was a crate of records under shelves full of worn books, his desk had a collage of printed out album art and magazine clippings over it, a bunch of textbooks stacked in one corner next to a cup of pens, and a book was laying face down on the bedside table. The windows looked over the roof of the garage and Cas could see that one had the mesh missing.

“Sorry for the mess,” Dean said, leaning against the door frame. “I forgot to tidy up, and Sam lost his charger and we had to tear up his room to find it before he could go to Jo’s.”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve seen worse,” he said, shaking his head free of the thought of the house in Pontiac. He peered at a picture frame on Dean’s dresser – a blonde woman holding a sandy-haired toddler, both smiling broadly.

“That’s my mom,” Dean said.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, she was.” His voice was barely audible, and Cas wasn’t sure if Dean had meant for him to hear. “Basement’s all that’s left, unless you wanna see the garage.”

Cas shook his head. “Basement sounds good.”

Dean smiled at him and led him downstairs, flicking on the lights when he went opened the basement door, only to be greeted with displeased shouts.

“Why?” Charlie half-whined.

“Blindin’ me, brother,” Benny groaned.

“You’re both like vampires,” Dean said. “Cas, have you met Benny yet?”

He hadn’t. He’d seen Benny in passing, but he’d never actually met him – they didn’t have any classes together, nor did their lunch periods coincide, so everything he’d heard was secondhand from Dean and Charlie.

“No,” he said, dropping his bag next to Charlie’s.

Benny lifted a hand in a wave and smiled. “Benny Lafitte, pleased to meet you.”

“Cas,” he replied. “Novak.”

“You need to move your armies,” Charlie said.

“Let me think first,” Benny said.

Dean rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “A month of this, Cas, a _month,”_ he said, exasperation heavy in his voice. “Anyway – basement. Crown jewel of the house, honestly, Sam and I have put a lot of work into it.”

The basement was well lit and open, split in half by the stairwell. One side had a kitchenette and wire shelves lining the wall, two doors sandwiched between the tile and the tall set of tool drawers. The shelves mostly held bins, labeled by year, but there were some dark wood ones full of books and toys near mismatched bean bags.

The other side had the small table Charlie and Benny were hunched over, a longer one folded up and leaning against the wall, more wood shelves with board games, books, and movies. A worn-out sectional and two armchairs were pushed against the side of the stairs, facing a TV mounted on the wall.

“Sam and I go to a lot of yard sales,” Dean said. “People get rid of a lot of good shit.”

Cas tilted his head. “How…”

“I help out at the scrapyard and the garage when I can,” Dean said. “And, uh, insurance money. From my parents.”

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” Cas said quickly.

“It’s fine.” Dean shrugged. “You’re not the first to wonder how we got to keep the house.”

“First to get a straight answer,” Benny interjected. “You beat around the bush when I asked.”

“’Cause you asked in the middle of me fixin’ your truck,” Dean replied hotly. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah, sure,” Benny said with a snort of laughter. “All right, Charlie, I’m done.”

“Finally!” Charlie jumped up and went to her bag. “I had a thought of what we could play, just hear me out, okay?”

Benny looked at Dean. “Why am I suddenly apprehensive?”

Dean shrugged. “’Cause last time Charlie had an idea you got pulled into a month-long game of Risk?”

Charlie smiled sheepishly, pulling a book out of her bag. “This one could take longer,” she said, holding up the book. “We could play DnD?”

“You’re _such_ a nerd, Charlie,” Dean said.

“It could be fun!” She let Cas take the book from her hands, _The Dungeon Master’s Guide._ “C’mon, I know you said you wanted to play before, but we’ve never had enough people. You need three for a party.”

“There are four of us,” Cas said, thumbing through the pages.

“Three party members and a Dungeon Master,” Charlie said. “To guide the plot. I thought I could be the Dungeon Master, since I know about the game?”

Benny shrugged. “I’ll give it a go.”

Dean looked at Cas, raising an eyebrow. “You in?”

Cas shrugged, handing the book back to Charlie. “You’re okay walking us through it?”

Charlie beamed at him. “Absolutely! First step is character creation, there’s a website we can build the characters on so I can keep track of them.”

“Sounds fun,” Dean said. “Do we need computers?”

“No, your phones can pull it up,” Charlie said, taking out her own and typing rapidly. “There’s the link. Cas, you and I can build on my phone. Send me the links to your characters when you’re done.”

After Dean pulled a beat-up card table from the storage closet, Cas peered at the website Charlie had pulled up on her phone, making a surprised noise when she handed it to him. She rotated between the three of them after they sat, explaining the different aspects of making their characters. Once they made their characters, she pulled a few sheets of paper from her bag and explained that they wouldn’t start the campaign until their next session and just set up the story this time.

Cas thought the concept of roleplaying was kind of strange, but Dean seemed more excited than he’d expected, mumbling as he typed on his phone. Benny seemed more relaxed about it, though he kept flipping through the pages of the second book Charlie had brought out, frowning at the patrons for his warlock.

Cas was staring at the name slot of his, rolling Charlie’s dice between his hands. He’d made a tiefling paladin, liking the dichotomy of the build – a demon-like creature sworn to uphold good.

“You good, Cas?” Charlie asked, taking her phone back when he offered it. “Oh, I like that. It’s kind of ironic.”

Dean looked over her shoulder. “An angel and a demon walk into a bar,” he said with a grin and offered Cas his phone to look at his character.

An Aasimar fighter named Colt; Cas had looked at the Aasimar and felt his mouth go dry at the holy notions, but Dean’s character didn’t give him the same response.

“I’m still not sure what to name mine,” Cas said, waving his hand to Charlie’s phone.

“A lot of tieflings are named after virtues,” Charlie said. “You could pick one of those? I can pull up a list.”

Cas pressed his lips together. “Does it have to be a virtue?” he asked.

Charlie shook her head. “It’s your character, you can name him what you want.” She offered him the phone.

“You mentioned making backstories.” Cas turned the phone over in his hands as he spoke. “Mine’s a paladin – could he have picked a new name when he joined his faith?”

Charlie nodded at him. “Do you want an elaborate backstory for him?”

He shook his head. “I think – maybe if he was just lost and found a path through faith, I was thinking.” He typed out the name and handed the phone back. “It means ‘God is with us.’ Maybe he picked it when he became a paladin.”

Charlie smiled. “I like that,” she said. “Okay, there’s our party – Emmanuel, Colt, and…”

“Tempest,” Benny said. He shrugged at Dean’s raised brow. “I like storms. What’s your excuse?”

“Colt firearms,” Dean replied simply.

Cas frowned. “You – like guns?”

Dean shrugged. “I know guns,” he said. “Dad and Bobby both taught me how to shoot.”

“You still won’t teach me,” Charlie muttered.

“’Cause Sheriff will kill me if I do.” Dean poked her cheek.

“Do you have guns?” Cas asked.

“In the safe upstairs,” Dean said. “They were my dad’s. I keep them locked up so Sam can’t get to them.”

“Sam can outshoot you, though,” Benny said.

“He can,” Dean said, a hint of pride in his voice, “but he’s also eleven, and I’m responsible for him. So, the guns stay locked up. Cas?”

Cas blinked. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I just – I don’t think I’ve known anyone with guns before. I’ve never seen one, actually.”

Dean put his phone face down. “They’re not that rare out here, almost everyone has a rifle of some sort.” He jabbed a thumb toward the stairs. “I was gonna go get some food from upstairs, any requests?”

“Chips, please. I’m gonna get changed.” Charlie asked, patting her hands on the table.

Benny stood and stretched while she grabbed her bag. “Charlie, are we doing this all night or another game?”

“Whose house is this?” Dean asked.

“If you’ve got your characters made and basic backstory, I can take them and outline enough for us to have a session next game night,” Charlie said. “Then we can play something else or watch a movie or something.”

Dean tapped Cas on the shoulder. “Game or movie?” he asked.

“Um – either is fine.” Dean frowned at him and he sighed. “A game, then?”

“Perfect. Snacks are upstairs, help me carry them?” Cas nodded and he continued, “Benny, set up something?

“Catan it is, brother.”

“Snack preference?”

“I’m not picky.”

Cas followed Dean to the kitchen, hesitating in the doorway when Dean went straight to the pantry and started rifling around.

“Chips or cookies?” Dean looked at Cas, who was looking at the pictures on the walls. “Cas?”

Cas jumped. “Sorry, I wasn’t – what did you say?”

Dean frowned and closed the pantry door. “You okay, man?”

Cas nodded. “I’m – I’m fine, it’s just…”

“You’re thinking about the guns?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall.

“How’d you –”

“Gabe was the same way first time he came over,” Dean said. “Knowing a weapon was in the house put him on edge.”

“Gabe’s been here?”

“He dropped by a lot after Dad died. Brought us food, talked to Sam, helped me when I didn’t want him to.” Dean paused, peering toward the basement door before turning back to Cas. “Do you want to see them?”

“See them?”

Dean nodded. “It helped Gabe relax when he saw that they were locked in the safe,” he said. “Think it’ll help you?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s worth a shot?”

Dean led him to the study, unlocking the old safe in the corner and swinging the door open for Cas to see. Inside, on top of a few file folders, were two handguns and an old revolver, a few magazines and boxes around them. Dean picked up one of the handguns, holding it for Cas to see as he pointed at separate parts.

“Safety’s on,” he said. He slid the magazine out. “No bullets in the magazine.” He pulled back on the barrel. “None in the chamber. Same for the other one, too.” He put it back and picked up the revolver, flicking out the cylinder. “No bullets. Completely safe.”

He handled them with a comfortable precision like he’d done it a hundred times before, checking them over before putting them back gently. He locked the safe before pointing at the corner by the window, where a black case was standing. “That case has Dad’s old hunting rifles,” he said, knocking on the front of it with a fist. “They didn’t see much use before he died. He and Bobby hadn’t gone hunting in years. Bobby wants to take Sam one day, but Sam’s not too keen on the idea of shooting Bambi. But they’re not loaded, either.”

Cas tilted his head. “What if someone breaks in?” he asked, following Dean out of the study.

“Metal baseball bat,” Dean said. “It’s – Kansas has stand your ground laws, but I’m not eighteen, so I can’t use the guns. Sam’s got a golf club by his bed, just in case.”

Dean looked at the sink and sighed at the dishes in it. “Gimme a minute to clean these,” he said, grabbing a sponge. “There’s a tub at the bottom of the pantry with snacks in it, take your pick.”

Cas the pantry open, looking at the tub without pulling anything out. It was organized, everything labelled in blocky, all-caps handwriting that Cas guessed was Sam’s.

It reminded him of Naomi’s pantry, though she’d slammed the door shut when he peeked inside and told him it was rude to poke his nose around people’s houses. He backpedaled, bumping into the table with a flinch.

“Cas?” Dean looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, “I’m fine.”

“You look freaked.” He shut off the water, putting the last plate in the dishwasher and shutting it with a foot.

“I just – remembered something, is all,” Cas replied, nudging the pantry door open with his foot.

Naomi, glaring at him as she held the pantry door shut with a hand, hair in a perfect bun and eyes sharp and words harsh and cold. Hannah, standing just beside him with knots at the ends of her hair, her fingers cold when she gripped his wrist. His own stomach, hollow and growling.

Dean didn’t say anything, turning when a flash of light crossed in front of the window. He frowned, leaning toward the glass.

“Charlie wanted chips, right?” Dean asked, not looking at him.

Cas nodded, picking up a bag from the tub. “This kind?”

Dean glanced at him and nodded. “Yeah, she likes those. I’ll grab something for Benny, let me just make sure everything’s locked up. And pick something for yourself, Cas, it’s fine. I wouldn’t offer if it weren’t. So long as it doesn’t have ‘Sam’ written on it, it’s fair game.”

Cas let Dean brush past him, peering at the tub as he tried to think.

Efram and Jonah, snickering behind their hands. Hael, eyes cold and arms crossed as she ignored him. Michael, getting red in the face as his voice rose in volume.

He shut his eyes and sighed for a second, forcing himself to focus on the tub of snacks. He picked up a package of cookies before sliding the tub back into place. Stepping toward the basement, he saw Dean peering through the window by the door, frowning deeply as another light went past.

“Dean?” Cas asked. “Is everything okay?”

Dean grunted and flicked the lock on the deadbolt before turning to Cas. “A car keeps driving by,” he said, walking toward Cas. “It’s not any of the neighbors’, but it’s gone by three times now.”

Cas shrugged. “Maybe they’re lost,” he said.

“Maybe,” Dean replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. He ducked into the pantry before following Cas down the stairs, throwing a bag of gummy worms at Benny before tearing open a bag of jerky.

“Cas, have you played Catan before?” Charlie asked, accepting the bag of chips. She’d changed into an oversized sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants and Cas realized that Benny, too, had switched from jeans to sweatpants.

“Uh, no.” He wondered briefly if he should change clothes, too, but Dean was still in jeans like him.

“Rulebook!” Charlie flapped it at him. “It’s not that hard, really. We’ll walk you through it.”

Dean held out the box and shook it at Cas. “Pick a color,” he said, already holding a bag of blue wooden pieces.

Cas picked out the green pieces and Charlie frowned.

“Those are in the wrong box,” she said.

“The orange pieces are missing a road,” Dean said. “I swapped them out.”

“What if someone wants to play orange?”

“We’ll find a stand-in.” Dean put the box down. “It’s probably under the couch or something, it got lost after we played with Sam and Jo.”

They rolled the die to decide who would go first, Charlie explaining as they set up the board how settlements and roads worked, with interjections from Dean and Benny.

It turned out to be easier than Cas had expected, once they explained the game. For a while they just rolled the dice, trying to get resources to build anything. Charlie groaned when she rolled a seven, picking up the grey robber piece.

“Anyone have eight resource cards?” she asked.

Dean sighed and pulled four cards from his hand, putting them back in the bank.

Charlie grinned sheepishly at Benny, still holding the robber.

“Don’t do it,” he said, groaning when she set the robber next to his city. He held out his cards, letting her grab one at random.

“It’s necessary,” Charlie said.

“Cas has more resources than me,” Benny pointed out.

“And it’s his first time playing.” She rearranged the cards in her hand, setting a few down to build a road. “Besides, don’t think I’ve forgotten that you took Australia from me.”

_“After_ you got South America.” Benny rolled the dice. “And Cas is doing pretty well. Are you sure you never played before?”

Cas nodded. “We didn’t really have board games at my house,” he said.

“Well, you learn pretty fast.” Benny passed Dean the dice. “You ever play chess?”

Cas blinked. “In middle school.” He took a card from the supply bank and added it to his hand. “My math teacher spent a couple weeks teaching us how to play.”

“What does chess have to do with math?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know. He taught us about optical illusions and handshakes, too.”

“Benny’s been looking for someone to play chess with him for years,” Charlie said. “Sam’s the only one that’ll play with him.”

“Kevin would probably play with him,” Dean said. “But his mom doesn’t really like him staying over.”

“The lack of adults makes her nervous,” Charlie told Cas.

“It doesn’t worry your parents?” Cas asked, looking at Benny.

“Not anymore.” He looked at the board, counting on his hands before clicking his tongue. “Did at first, but then they met Sam and Dean at the restaurant, and the Sheriff vouched for them, so they relaxed.”

“Restaurant?”

“Sailor’s Rest, near the north end of town. Family business.”

“They do lots of Cajun style stuff,” Dean said.

“Ah.” Cas fiddled with his cards. “I don’t know what Cajun style means.”

“We’re from Louisiana,” Benny said. “Cajun’s hearty food – think gumbo or jambalaya, lots of meat and spice.”

“Aren’t gumbo and jambalaya the same thing?” Charlie asked.

“Gumbo doesn’t have rice.”

“They taste very similar.”

“They share a lot of ingredients,” Benny said, “but they’re not the same.”

Charlie paused for a beat. “Are you _sure?”_ she asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s good food,” Dean said to Cas.

“You say that, but you and Sam rarely come in,” Benny said.

“We rarely go anywhere that isn’t the Roadhouse,” Dean said.

“I’ll bet you five bucks they’ll drop in for a crawfish boil,” Charlie said.

“A what?” Cas looked from Charlie to Benny.

“Crawfish boil,” Charlie and Benny said in unison, looking at him.

Cas looked at Dean helplessly. “What are they talking about?”

“You’ve never seen a crawdad?” Charlie asked.

“Craw _fish,”_ Benny corrected.

“They’re those little lobster lookin’ things that live in creeks and rivers,” Dean said, “that are small enough to fit in your hand. Benny calls ‘em crawfish cause he’s from Louisiana, but Charlie and I call ‘em crawdads. Different names for the same thing.” He handed Cas the dice after shuffling his cards around his hand, mumbling numbers under his breath.

“Just don’t call it a crayfish,” Charlie said.

“But what’s a crawfish boil?” Cas clicked the dice in his hand, not throwing them.

“Pretty much what it sounds like,” Dean said. “Bunch of crawdads in a boiling pot with spices and vegetables. It’s almost the right season, right, Benny?”

Benny nodded. “Already makin’ plans for it. Think Sam will wanna go looking for crawfish?”

“Probably,” Dean said. “Jo’ll get pissed if you leave her out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Benny looked at Cas. “You gonna roll?”

Cas threw the dice, still frowning. “You go fishing for crawdads?”

"They’re best fresh-caught,” Benny replied. “We do get shipments in for the restaurant, but for the first boil that’s just family and friends, we like to catch ‘em ourselves.”

“They set up traps in the creek,” Charlie said, “but it’s fun to just jump in the water and look for them.”

“And – Sam and Jo like doing that?” Cas asked.

“They did last spring,” Benny replied. “They may say they’re too cool for it, now that they’re middle schoolers.”

“One year,” Dean grumbled. “I say no _one year_ and y’all won’t let me forget.”

“And now you’ll never say no again,” Charlie said happily. “Cas, you should come with us when we do go. It’ll be fun.”

Cas blinked and shrugged. “Okay,” he said as he handed her the dice. She beamed and he felt himself return her smile.

The game ended with Charlie winning by a single point, but Cas was secretly pleased that he’d managed to come close, having never played before. Dean ducked upstairs when his phone started ringing, leaving them in the basement to their own devices.

Charlie turned on the TV, finding Netflix and queuing up a baking show without starting it, while Benny and Cas packed away the pieces to Catan.

“Cas, are you spending the night?” Charlie asked as she pulled the cushions off the sofa.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“That door’s the bathroom if you wanna change,” Benny said, pointing across the basement.

Cas nodded and took his bag with him, letting out a heavy breath once the door was shut. He shut his eyes for a second, grateful for the momentary quiet before digging through his bag for his pajamas and changing quickly. He took the chance to brush his teeth and left the bathroom to find Charlie and Benny both with their phones to their ears, having quiet conversations on different sides of the room.

Dean thumped back down the stairs, now wearing his own pajamas. He nodded at Cas, wiggling his phone in his hand. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Sam wanted to talk. Nice pajamas.”

Cas looked down at his legs, which were covered in bee-patterned flannel. He knit his brows together and pointed at Dean’s pajamas. “Hot dogs?”

“Sam found ‘em and thought it’d be funny. Bees?”

“I like bees.”

“I kinda figured.” Dean smiled slightly before looking between Charlie and Benny. “Oh. Talking to their parents?”

“I’d assume so.” Cas shifted from foot to foot. He still didn’t have a phone, but he wondered if Gabe would even be awake. “Do you – would you mind if I called…”

Dean nodded, unlocking his phone and pulling up his contacts. “Yeah, I’ve got Gabe’s number here. You can go upstairs if you want.”

Cas smiled in thanks, holding his breath as he listened to the phone ring.

“Hello?”

Cas sighed when he heard Gabe’s voice, a knot he hadn’t realized was in his chest loosening. “Hey – hi. It’s me – it’s Cas, I mean.”

“Cas? Is everything okay?” He heard rustling and realized that Gabe sounded disoriented.

“Yeah, I just…” He chewed his lip for a second, pacing in the living room. “Everyone else called their parents. Did I wake you up?”

“No, no, I just didn’t expect you to call. Saw Dean’s name on the caller ID and thought something was up.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. “I was just wrapping something up in the office. Is everything good? You need me to come get you?”

“No, it’s good. It’s fun.” Cas shoved his free hand in his pocket, looking out the window. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps. It was far darker than the street the bakery was on, with ever present lights from stores and cars, but not nearly as dark as the house in Pontiac, where they were set far back from the road, almost into the trees.

“You don’t sound good, Cas. What’s on your mind?”

“Did you know Dean has guns in his house?” The words came out faster than he expected, too fast for him to bite them back.

“Yeah, they were his old man’s. He still keeps them locked up, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Still making you nervous to think about a weapon in the house?”

“Yeah.” He tapped his toes against the hardwood, trying to keep himself from slamming the ball of his foot down as he bit down harder on his lip.

“Take a breath, Cas. Did Dean show you the guns?”

“Yes.”

“Were they loaded?”

“No.” Cas paced back and forth in the foyer, glancing up when a light passed by the window. Curious, he peered out, but whatever had cast the light had passed. “He – it looked natural, the way he held them?”

“Yeah, he knows how to take care of them. It’s a routine motion for him, I’m pretty sure Sam can do it, too. But they’re unloaded and locked up?”

“Yeah. He said he can’t use them ‘til he’s eighteen.”

“That’s true.” On Gabe’s end of the line, Cas could hear a collection of clicks and thuds. “Is that all that was worrying you?”

“No,” Cas admitted. “I – Dean told me to grab food from the pantry, earlier, and I – I remembered something about Aunt Naomi’s kitchen. Or – not about – more like a time Hannah and I were there. She didn’t want me to look in it.”

“She never did like feeding a kid that wasn’t hers,” Gabe replied. “Did it last long?”

“No, I – I think I ignored it, mostly? Not entirely.”

“Mostly is still good, Cas. You’ve got your journal, right? Write it down, tell Rowena about it next time you see her. How long were you stuck thinking about it?”

“Not long.” Cas wandered to the stairwell, sitting down and leaning against the banister. “Long enough that Dean asked if I was okay, but not enough to spiral.”

“That’s good!” A loud thump sounded on Gabe’s end, followed by a muttered swear that Cas couldn’t make out. “Really, though, how are you feeling? I can come get you, just say the word.”

“I’m fine, Gabe.” Cas shifted, stretching his legs out on the stairs. “Really. I just – wanted to talk to you, I guess. It was dumb.”

“You’ve got anxiety, Cas, it ain’t dumb to want to ease it up in a way you know works.”

Cas pulled his feet back onto the stairs, tracing the bees on his pajama pants. “I thought Rowena didn’t want to diagnose me, yet,” he said.

“Yet,” Gabe repeated. “And you can call it older sibling intuition. I’ve known you for years, Cas, I remember what you were like as a kid. You’ve always been nervous.”

Cas stood up, tucking the phone closer to his ear as he chewed his lip.

“Anyway,” Gabe said, “I’m glad you wanted to talk to me to ease your anxiety.”

“You are?”

“Sure. Sign of trust, or however Rowena and Pam would word it. To me, it means you’re comfortable talking to me, and I think that’s a win.”

“It is?” Cas paused by the window, but it was dark. He nudged his shoes into a neat pair, lining up Charlie’s Converse and Dean’s boots beside them.

Gabe laughed, short and sharp. “Remind me to tell you how trying to get Anna to talk went,” he said. “It was like pulling teeth.”

That tracked when Cas thought about it. Anna was always better at deflecting questions to get someone else to talk instead of answering them herself. “What about Balthazar?”

“He was ready to talk before I had a chance to ask any questions, but he’s always been like that,” Gabe replied quickly. “But, for real, you have your journal? You’re good for the night?”

“Yeah – yeah, I think I’ll be okay for the night.”

"Then go have fun with your friends." Gabe's voice was soft. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Cas?”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Night, little brother. I love you.”

Cas mumbled, “Love you, too,” and ended the call, feeling his ears burn.

The verbal affection, the acknowledgement of feelings – it wasn’t how Michael worked, it wasn’t what Cas was used to, even after a month of adjusting to living with Gabe. It was plain and undeniable and unequivocal – it was fact, and Cas still didn’t know how to deal with it, however often Gabe offered it.

He gave Dean the phone when he went back in the basement, pulling his journal out of his bag and sitting on the floor behind the couch to write in it.

“Whatcha writing?” Charlie asked without looking over the couch, eyes fixed on the baking show she and Dean were watching.

“Just journaling,” Cas mumbled, trying to remember what had happened in the kitchen without getting pulled into the details.

Naomi’s stare, sharp blue and cold. Hannah’s eyes, wide and scared – the same blue, but brighter. Warmer. Efram’s laugh rang through his ears and he shook his head, trying to shake it off.

“I didn’t know you kept a journal,” Dean said, half-turning on the sofa.

Cas angled himself over the pages. “It’s – it was my therapist’s idea,” he mumbled, shaking his pen between his first two fingers so it tapped his ring finger.

“Oh, my old therapist did that,” Charlie said. “Told me to keep a journal of all the bad thoughts I had.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked.

“Eh, kinda.” She draped herself over the couch, sliding down until she could look at Cas without seeing the pages he was writing in. “Does it help you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t been doing it for very long.” He tapped the pen against the page, frowning at the dots of ink it left. “I just wanted to write something down before I forgot.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “What’d’ya think you’re going to forget?”

"Just a memory." Cas flinched, remembering Naomi’s harsh words. “I don’t think I’ll forget it,” he murmured. “But I’d like to get it out of my head.”

“That sounds creepy as shit, Cas,” Dean offered.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled. Charlie patted him on the shoulder without a word, slinking back onto the couch.

Across the room, Benny shook a box. “Wanna play a game of chess when you’re done?”

Cas blinked. “Sure,” he said. “Give me a few minutes?”

“No rush, brother.” Benny held up the board. “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

It was dark when he woke up, but Cas still jolted awake with a gasp and shot upright, taking a second to remember where he was. To his side, Dean groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.

“Cas, what the hell?” he grumbled, low and quiet. “It’s _early.”_

“What time is it?” Cas asked in a hurried breath, whipping his head around. It was dark and he couldn’t see anything, not even Dean, rustling to his left.

Dean’s phone lit up his face and the blankets around him. “It’s half past four,” he grunted. “Four in the _mornin’,_ Cas, you got some weird bakery schedule you sleep around?”

Cas tried to breathe evenly, trying to slow down his racing heart. “No,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Waking up this early is a habit?” Dean asked, pulling his pillow closer.

The pieces clicked into place for Cas as his heart slowed down and he remembered where he was – Dean’s basement, on the pull-out couch. To his right, Charlie was curled up in a recliner, and past Dean, Benny was snoring on a cot. They’d all fallen asleep after watching a movie.

“It was,” he said. “In Illinois.”

“They made you wake up super early?” Dean asked. “On weekends?”

“Every day,” Cas replied, pulling the blanket up. “Seminary.”

“The fuck is seminary?” Dean didn’t sit up, but he shifted enough to look at Cas, his head still resting on his pillow.

“It was like, really early morning service. We’d read a passage and be given a lesson on it before school.” Cas exhaled, wishing the tension would leave his shoulders. “I hated it.”

“Fuck, I’d hate having to get up this early every day, too.”

“No, not because it was early.” He dug his nails into his palms, trying to think. “I was always supposed to get up _at_ four, but I never could, so I’d make us late, and my brother hated it.”

“Gabe hated something you did?”

“No.” Cas curled his toes in, drawing his knees up. “Michael. My oldest brother. He hated when I made us late. Hated most things I did, actually.”

“Well, he sounds like a dick.” Dean sighed, slumping into his pillow. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? Charlie and Benny won’t be up ‘til like, seven, at the earliest.”

Charlie mumbled something before tucking herself deeper into her blanket, enough movement to make Dean and Cas freeze before she started snoring softly.

“I can’t,” Cas mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t,” he repeated, a little bit louder. “I can never fall back asleep. I’ve tried, it just – it doesn’t work.”

Dean propped himself up on his elbows with a frown. “That sounds like shit,” he said flatly. “You sure?”

Cas bit his lip. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said, trying not to snap.

Dean sighed and got up. “Guess it’s an early morning, then,” he said. “Come on, we can figure out something for breakfast before these two wake up.”

Cas blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Dean said with a shrug. “I’ll just crash earlier tonight, no big deal. I can’t just leave you awake on your own, that’d make me a shit host. Make my mom roll over in her grave.”

Cas felt himself smile and as he threw off the blankets, the tightness in his shoulders eased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit very readily that I haven't been in art therapy, so I'm not entirely sure how it works. I'm taking creative liberties but if I've made offensive errors, please let me know.   
> I also haven't played Catan in a hot minute, but I remember loving it when my brothers and I played. Fun tidbit, my mom banned Risk for a number of years because of the fights it would cause.   
> Also. The crawdad thing got away from me but I am FASCINATED by regional dialects & learned about crawfish boils last year and I'm still intrigued by them. Regional differences make the ADHD brain go brrrr.  
> I also had to make a minor edit in the first two chapters regarding Cas's inability to sleep in, I'd fucked up the time initially, but it's correct now!   
> As always, comments and kudos are loved and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are love, and you can find me @reminiscentrevelry on tumblr, too!


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